untitled
Xuebing Du
Noah Kahan
Misplaced Lens Cap
oozey mess
cherry valley forever
★
No title available
No title available
Mike Driver
Love Begins
blake kathryn
Game of Thrones Daily
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
No title available
NASA
tannertan36
No title available
taylor price
Interview Vampire Daily
seen from United States
seen from Kenya
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Spain
seen from Venezuela
seen from Jordan
seen from United States
seen from India
seen from Malaysia
seen from France
seen from Taiwan
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Germany
seen from Australia
seen from United Kingdom
@cookiemonstermusic258
It's me: 🖤 25 | cookie / cookoe / cookoeea 🇪🇺 European 🦇 DC fanfic writer ✍️ probably more to come, I'm easily influenced Mostly hurting Jason Todd, sometimes the rest of the Batfam Dick, Bruce, Tim, Damian — you’re on my roster too Caution: Sarcasm is my only defense My little growing masterlist
Last updated: 21-06-2026
Jason Todd:
Just friends:
Chapter 1: Just friends
Chapter 2: The missing piece
Chapter 3: Rewriting history
Chapter 4: Time flies when you're having fun.
Chapter 5: Bring him home
Chapter 6: Coming soon
Jason Todd crack party:
Fear is a language - requested
More than a headcount - requested
Special occasions:
Christmas special
New years special
Also easily found on Ao3
Request rules
Do you want to be on the taglist for any know updates? Let me know and you will be added 🩷
Or do you have a request or a question ? Always welcome
Or do you wanna show love or wanna beat me up for playing with your emotions? You know what button to hit 🤭😌
Bring him home.
Fifth chapter of Just friend?
Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader
Ao3
Divider by: @/uzmacchiato
Word count: 4.2k
Masterlist
Warnings: Violence, blood
Tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, mental health issues, eventual smut, trauma, violence, blood, torture
English is not my first language
Enjoy!
Your likes, reposts and/or comments are very much appericated.
< Chapter 4- Chapter 6>
The auto shop looked even worse in the light of dawn. Not brighter, just dead in a way darkness had hidden before. The building sagged inward like Gotham had gotten tired of holding it up. Rust crawled across the corrugated metal walls in thick orange veins. Half of the windows were boarded over, the others shattered long ago, jagged teeth catching the pale light of early morning.
A faded sign hung crooked near the roof
Joe Auto Repair.
One corner finally gave way with a sharp creak as they watched, metal groaning softly against metal.
Y/n stood on the neighboring rooftop with her hood pulled low, staring at the building hard enough that her eyes burned. Here, here was Jason.
Her pulse refused to settle around the thought. It slammed too fast beneath her ribs, mixing with exhaustion until she felt hollowed out by it. Every part of her body hurt now that adrenaline had left her body. Her shoulder throbbed sharply beneath her jacket. Her ribs screamed every time she inhaled too deep.
She ignored it.
Below them, the street was nearly empty. Gotham’s industrial district always looked abandoned at dawn, quiet enough to feel wrong. But movement flickered around the edges if you knew where to look.
Joker’s goons.
Two near the front entrance smoking cigarettes. Another pacing the side entrance with a rifle hanging lazily from his shoulder. More silhouettes moving around in the shadows.
Tim crouched near the ledge beside her, visor glowing faint red as he scanned the building’s heat signatures.
“Twenty-three hostiles minimum,” he said quietly. “Maybe more inside the basement level. Thermal imaging’s messy.”
“Explosives?” Bruce asked.
“None visible,” Tim paused. “Which probably means yes.”
Damian scoffed softly. “Cowards do enjoy hiding bombs behind walls.”
Dick crouched beside an old ventilation unit, escrima sticks resting across his knees. “Any signs of Joker?”
Tim shook his head once. “No confirmed visual.”
Y/n’s stomach twisted. That meant nothing good. Bruce studied the building in silence for another second, cape shifting slightly in the wind behind him. Even standing still, he looked enormous against the gray skyline, carved from shadow and exhaustion.
“Jason’s likely held in the main garage area,”Y/n said suddenly.
Four heads turn her way.
She pointed towards the center of the building. “The support beams in there are reinforced. Strong enough for chains, hoist, all that.” Her throat tightened. “And Joker wants space. Room for his show. A stage.” Dick’s expression darkened slightly at that.
Tim adjusted the scan. “Heat density’s highest there too.”
Bruce’s gaze sharpened. “Meaning the heaviest guard presence.”
“Exactly.”
Y/n nodded absently, though her focus stayed fixed on the roofline. There. Near the east side. A slight dip in the metal she recognized immediately.
Old storm damage. The roof access hatch underneath it had never sealed correctly after the collapse years ago.
Her chest tightened painfully.
Still the same.
Dick noticed the shift in her expression. “You know a way in.”
Not a question.
Y/n dragged her eyes away from the building long enough to nod. “Roof hatch.” She pointed towards the east corner. “It sticks if you pull it normally. You have to lift and twist at the same time or the hinge catches.”
Tim’s brows lighted slightly. “That’s…weirdly specific.”
“I never said that we got the car parts legally,” she muttered.
Dick shook his head slightly, with a soft smile on his lips.
“You sure it still leads inside?” Damian asked.
“Yes.” Her answer came instantly. “Storage loft above the garage.”
Tim adjusted something on his wrist display. “Mininal heat signatures on the roof level. Most guards are concentrated near the ground entrances.”
“Meaning it’s our best infiltration point,” Bruce finished.
Silence settled briefly after that. No hesitation. Calculation.
Y/n knew what Bruce was about to say before he opened his mouth. She could feel it building in the air around him, heavy and inevitable.
“No,” he said.
She stared at him flatly. “You didn’t even let me ask yet.”
“I know what you’re going to ask.”
“Then you know I'm right.”
Bruce turned toward her fully now, expression hardening. “You’re injured.”
“So is Jason.”
The words hit sharper than she intended. Dick winced slightly. Tim looked away. Damian crossed his arms but stayed silent for once.
Bruce’s voice lowered dangerously. “That doesn’t change the fact that sending you in is reckless.”
Y/n stepped closer before he could continue. “Joker wants a show.”
That stopped him. Her eyes locked onto Bruce’s.
“He always wants Batman kicking the front door down. He wants the noise. The chaos. The big dramatic entrance where everyone’s looking at him.” Her jaw tightened. “So give it to him.”
Dick’s brows lifted slightly, understanding dawning.
Y/n pointed toward the big, rundown garage door below. “You hit the south entrance hard enough, every one of those idiots is gonna look the same direction.”
Tim glanced toward the autoshop. “And while they focus on us…”
“I go through the roof,” Y/n finished.
The wind whipped sharply across the rooftop, tugging strands of hair loose around her face.
“He’ll expect Batman,” she continued quickly. “He won’t expect me.”
Bruce’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it became more unreadable
“He’s unstable,” he said. “If he sees you-”
“The man hasn’t been stable a day in his life, but he won’t see me.”
Absolutely certainly. No arrogance.
Y/n forced herself to breath through the pain pulling at her ribs. “I know this building better than any of you. I know where the floor creaks. I know which stairwell buckles near the wall. I know where the old storage loft opens over the garage.” Her throat tightened slightly. “And Jason knows me.”
Dick looked away for a second. Because they all understood what she meant. Jason hearing Batman coming for him would mean rescue. Jason hearing Y/n first would mean safety.
Bruce studied her for a long moment, cape shifting behind him in the cold dawn wind.
“What’s the route?”
Relief flickered across her face too quickly too hide.
She dropped into a crouch beside Tim’s holographic map projection immediately. “You hit here.” Her finger tapped the south loading entrance. “Fast. Loud. Joker likes spectacle, so don’t hold back.”
Dick actually grinned slightly. “I think we can manage dramatic."
Y/n ignored him, tracing another line across the roof. “While they move toward the noise, I cross from the west to the east side. The roof hatch leads into the storage loft. From there I can get eyes on the garage before moving lower.”
Damian frowned faintly. “And if the clown is already with Todd?”
Y/n’s jaw tightened.
Bruce folded his arms. “If you encounter Joker directly?”
Dick answered before she could.
“She calls it in.”
A beat.
Y/n’s silence lasted just slightly too long. Bruce noticed immediately. “Y/n.”
Her eyes flickered toward him.
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Bruce said sharply.
Something dangerous flashed across her face then. Quick, ugly and grief-stricken all at once. Because part of her wanted Joker dead. Dick stood slowly, stepping between the tension before it could sharpen further. “We get Jason out first,” he said carefully. “That’s the priority.”
Y/n looked away first.
“Fine,” she muttered.
Damian narrowed his eyes like he didn’t believe her for a second. Honestly? Neither did she.
Tim broke the silence by tapping his wrist display again. “Okay, the security route updates every ninety seconds. If we move now, we hit them before they change position.”
Bruce nodded once.
“Everyone sync comms.”
A series of confirmations clicked through the rooftop. Dick spun one escrima stick loosely in his hand before securing it against his back. Damian adjusted his hood. Tim checked his grapple twice in quick succession.
Bruce stepped toward Y/n last.
For half a second, neither of them spoke.
Then Bruce handed her a small comm piece.
“In case you lose yours.”
Y/n blinked once, surprised.
Bruce’s voice lowered.
“You’ll find him,” he said. “You do not stop moving.”
She swallowed hard. Because underneath the order was something else. Please. Not just for Jason. For her too.
Y/n took the comm silently and fitted it into place.
Below them, one of Joker’s goons laugh loudly near the dock, completely unaware of the predators watching from above.
Bruce stepped back toward the ledge.
"Positions," he ordered.
The rooftop exploded into motion.
Dick vaulted first, disappearing across the alley gap in a blur of black and blue. Tim followed immediately after, grappling toward the neighboring fire escape. Damian dropped silently onto a lower ledge like gravity itself had personally trained him.
Bruce lingered one second longer. His gaze met Y/n’s briefly beneath the mask.
“Bring him home.”
With that, Bruce disappeared across buildings.
Y/n moved the second Bruce disappeared from her sight.
The rooftops swallowed her immediately, cold wind biting through her jacket as she broke into a low sprint across the uneven tar. Every step jarred her ribs hard enough to make her vision pulse faintly at the edges, but she pushed through it, boots barely making a sound against the roof.
Below her, Gotham breathed in slow industrial groans. Pipes hissed somewhere in the distance. Water dripped steadily from rusted gutters. The city smelled like wet concrete and smoke.
Ahead, the auto shop roof sagged inward near the east side exactly like she remembered.
Still broken.
Y/n dropped into a crouch behind a rusted ventilation unit near the roof’s edge and looked down.
Two goons remained near the loading entrance below, rifles slung loose while they smoked and bitched quietly to each other. One laughed loudly at something stupid enough that she instantly hated him.
Her eyes flicked upwards again towards the dip in the roofline.
Half-hidden beneath warped metal paneling sat the old maintenance hatch. Rust crawled around the hinges in thick reddish streaks. One corner sat slightly higher than the others where the storm years ago had bent the frame permanently out of shape.
Y/n inhaled carefully through the ache in her ribs and reached the grapple at her belt.
Three seconds later she launched silently across the alley gap.
The line caught. She swung low beneath the roof edge, boots skimming briefly against old brick before she released and caught the gutter with both hands. Pain exploded through her shoulder instantly, white-hot and vicious.
She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to stop the sound that tried to come out. Her muscles trembled violently as she hauled herself upwards inch by inch. Rust flaked beneath her gloves. The gutter groaned ominously.
For one awful second she thought it might rip free from the wall entirely. Then she rolled onto the roof hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs.
Pain lanced through her ribs.
She froze immediately, teeth clenched, waiting.
Below her, one of the goons paused mid-conversation. Y/n stayed perfectly still.
“...thought I heard something,” the man muttered.
Another snorted. “Probably another damn raccoon.”
The conversation resumed. Y/n exhaled shakily. Too close. She forced herself up again and crossed the remaining distance toward the hatch in a low crouch, movement careful despite the urgency clawing at her chest.
The metal beneath her boots dipped slightly near the center.
Same weak spot. God. Nothing had changed here except for them.
She reached the hatch and knelt beside it quickly, fingers brushing the warped edge.
Lift and twist. Just like before.
Y/n slid both hands beneath the lip and pulled sharply while twisting left. For half a second nothing happened. Then the hinge gave a soft metallic pop.
She caught the hatch before it could slam backward. Slowly yanking the dark opening beneath her.
Cold air drifted upward carrying dust, oil, old rust and underneath it all…blood.
Her stomach twisted so violently she nearly gagged.
The sound hit her, faint uneven breathing.
Y/n slipped silently through the hatch feet first, lowering herself onto the narrow metal ladder bolted into the wall. The shaft creaked softly around her as she descended. Darkness swallowed her almost immediately. Only thin slashes of pale dawn light cut through the crack of the old walls. Below her voices echoed faintly through the building. Goons talking somewhere through the building.
But beneath it all.
A wet, ragged breath. Closer now.
Y/n reached the bottom of the ladder and paused perfectly still. She’s in the storage loft, just like she remembered.
Dust-covered shelves lined the walls, old engine parts piled beneath torn tarps. A collapsed tool cabinet leaned drunkenly near the far corner. The wooden catwalk stretched out over the main garage below, hidden mostly in shadow.
She moved toward it slowly.
Every board beneath her boots threatened noise.
Every breath hurt.
The closer she got to the railing, the harder her pulse slammed against her ribs.
Please.
Please be alive.
Y/n reached the edge of the loft and looked down. The world stopped. Jason sat bolted to a metal chair in the center of the garage beneath a single industrial light. Barbed wire wrapped around him so tightly it looked fused to his body.
Blood soaked through his clothes in dark streaks. His head hug forward weakly, white streak stained crimson beneath the light. One knee twitched faintly like his body had forgotten how to stop shaking.
For one terrible second she couldn’t breath.
The room tilted. Not again.
The garage around him looked abandoned except for the torture devices laid out carefully around the chair.
Crowbars.
Electrical cables.
Chains hanging from exposed beams.
Joker wasn’t here. That made it somehow worse.
Like he had trusted the damage already done to keep Jason exactly where he wanted him.
Y/n’s hand tightened instinctively around the knife strapped to her thigh. Her breathing shook once before she forced it steady again.
Focus.
Jason’s head shifted weakly below, like instinct alone sensed something moving nearby. Y/n crouched lower against the railing and tapped softly against the rusted metal beside her.
Tap-tap.
Jason froze instantly.
Even from above she saw it. The way every inch of him went rigid despite the pain it clearly caused.
Y/n’s throat tightened painfully.
Tap.
Tap-tap
Tap.
His head lifted weakly. Too slow. Too heavy. His visible eye darted unfocused through the darkness below the loft, panic and disbelief tangling together across his face.
I’m hearing things, his expression screamed.
Y/n swallowed hard. Then tapped again.
Tap-tap.
Pause.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Tap.
Jason’s breathing broke.
A shattered sound escaped him, halfway between a laugh and a sob. His head tilted upward slightly now, desperate and disbelieving all at once.
“...Y/n?”
Barely audible.
Emotions hit her hard, she nearly lost her balance for a second.
He sounded so destroyed. Jason’s eye searched the darkness frantically now, hope terrifying him more than pain ever could.
Her comm cracked softly.
“In position,” Tim’s voice murmured.
“Ready,” Damian replied.
A beat later.
“Nightwing’s ready to make this ugly.”
Despite everything, Y/n almost smiled.
Bruce’s voice cut through last. Low and controlled.
“On my mark.”
Y/n pressed a shaking finger against her comm at her ear. Her eyes never left Jason.
“Let’s go,” she whispered.
The response came instantly.
Gunfire erupted outside the auto shop. Sharp bursts of sound cracked through the thin metal walls, followed immediately by shouting as Batman and the others hit Joker’s men head-on near the loading entrance
“Contact left-”
“Move move move-”
Something heavy slammed against the garage doors from the outside hard enough to rattle the entire building. Metal groaned violently in its frame.
Jason flinched hard beneath the light. Recognition flashed across his face, Bruce.
Y/n saw the exact moment panic followed it. His body jerked instinctively against the barbed wire before agony tore through him hard enough to force a broken sound from his throat. Fresh blood welled where the wire bit deeper into his chest and arms.
“No,” he rasped weakly, breath shaking violently. “No no no, he wants-”
She moved fast.
The catwalk creaked softly beneath her boots as she crossed toward the stairs leading into the garage below. Every second stretched painfully thin now. Outside, the fight intensified, fists hitting flesh, gunshots cracking through dawn air, Dick shouting something sharp over comms before static swallowed it again.
The distraction was working. Every goon left inside had rushed toward the commotion.
Y/n hit the bottom stair and crossed into the shadows beside an old engine lift, moving low and quick between abandoned equipment until Jason filled her entire vision.
And god, up close it was worse. Way worse.
Her breath caught painfully in her throat.
Bruises covered nearly every visible inch of him. Blood soaked through torn fabric in dark streaks. The barbed wire wrapped around his torso looked viscous under the industrial light, twisted deep enough into his skin that even breathing seemed dangerous.
His hands shook violently against the restraints without him seeming aware of it anymore.
But his eye, swollen shut, cut along his cheekbone.
Her eyes stayed locked onto his, fearing that if she blinked he might disappear.
“You came," he whispered hoarsely.
The words nearly shattered her.
Y/n dropped into a crunch in front of him, hands hovering uselessly for half a second because she didn’t know where she could touch him without hurting him more.
“Of course I came,” she whispered shakily.
Something cracked across his face then. Relief so overwhelming it almost looked painful.
Outside, another burst of gunfire echoed across the lot followed by someone screaming in pain.
Jason flinched again.
“No,” he rasped suddenly, panic cutting through the haze. “You listen to me, you need to leave before he-”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“He planned this, you don’t understand, he wants-”
“I know what he wants.” Her voice sharpened instantly, cutting straight through his panic. “And I don’t care.”
Jason stared at her, breathing uneven. Y/n swallowed hard and forced her shaking hands toward the wire around his ribs.
“I saw the video, Jason.”
That silenced him instantly.
Something awful flickered across his face.
Shame.
Fear.
Guilt.
Like he hated that she had seen him like that, like this.
Y/n’s chest ached so badly she thought it might split open.
“Hey,” she whispered softer now, finally risking touching his face carefully beneath the bruising. “Look at me.”
His eye lifted toward her slowly.
“You don’t ever have to be sorry for surviving.”
Jason’s breath broke.
For a second, neither of them spoke. Then Jason frowned. A small movement, but enough. His gaze drifted from her eyes to the bruises and cut scattered across her face. The spilt lip. The dark fingerprints wrapped around her neck.
Y/n felt his gaze burning into her skin. She immediately wished she’d pulled her collar up higher.
Jason couldn’t help himself but to stare.
“What happened to you?”
The question came out rough, barely more than a whisper.
Y/n looked away.
“It’s a long story.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Y/n.”
“Later.”
The answer came too quickly.
Because where exactly was she supposed to start?
The fight with Harley and her dipshits?
The Joker toxin?
The fight with her and Bruce?
Nothing he should worry about right now.
Y/n swallowed hard and forced her attention back at the barbed wire wrapped around his ribs
“Right now we’re focusing on getting you out of this chair.”
Jason watched her for another second. Like he knew she was avoiding the question. Like he knew whatever happened had been bad. But for a moment he let it go.
For now.
His eye dropped to the wire cutter in her hand.
“Fair enough.”
Outside, Batman slammed someone hard enough against the ground that they could hear his ribs crack.
Tim’s voice crackled faintly through comms.
“More incoming from the west side.”
“We see them,” Dick answered sharply.
Damian sounded entirely too pleased somewhere in the background. “Finally.”
Y/n barely heard any of it.
Her focus stayed entirely on Jason as she reached toward the utility belt around her waist, pulling free the compact wire cutter secured against her hip.
Jason saw them. Hope hit his face so suddenly it hurt to look at.
Y/n carefully reached toward the first section of barbed wire twisted across his chest.
“Okay,” she whispered, trying to steady her breathing. “This is gonna hurt.”
Jason’s eyes stayed fixed on her.
“Yeah,” he rasped softly. “Figured.”
Y/n carefully slid the wire cutters beneath the first twisted section wrapped around Jason’s ribs.
“Stay still,” she whispered.
Jason huffed out the ghost of a laugh. “Starting to think you enjoy impossible requests.”
Her throat tightened painfully at that. Because even now, half conscious and bleeding under a single flickering light, he still finds the energy to joke around.
Y/n steadied the cutters and squeezed. The metal snapped with a sharp click. Jason jerked violently anyway. A strangled sound from his throat as the loosened wire shifted against torn skin. His head dropped forward hard, breathing breaking into rough uneven gasps.
“Shit- sorry,” Y/n whispered immediately, panic flashing through her chest. Jason shook his head weakly after a second. “Keep going.”
Outside, another round of gunfire cracked through the air.
The garage doors rattled violently again. Y/n force herself to focus. One wire at the time. The barbs caught everywhere. Across his chest. Around his shoulders. Twisted tightly down both arms. Coiled viciously around his thighs beneath torn fabric dark with blood.
Joker had wound it carefully. Every movement dragged barbs through skin. Every breath hurt him. Her stomach turned violently. Y/n cut another section loose from his shoulder, trying desperately not to pull too hard as the metal peeled away from torn flesh.
Jason hissed sharply through clenched teeth.
“Almost there,” she whispered, though they both knew it was a lie. Her glove snagged suddenly against one of the exposed barbs.
Rip.
The fabric tore across her palm. A sharp sting followed instantly as the barb sliced cleanly through skin beneath it, but she barely registered it. Her focus never left Jason. Blood slid slowly across her fingers unnoticed.
Outside, comms crackled violently through static.
“More on the east side!” Tim barked.
“We know,” Bruce answered grimly.
More voices. More footsteps. More goons arriving.
Y/n’s pulse kicked harder.
“Hurry,” Jason rasped weakly.
“I’m hurrying.”
She cut another length free from his arm. Then his chest. Then carefully around his thighs where the wire had bitten so deep that she had to pull slightly harder.
Jason’s entire body trembled every time she pulled another coil loose. Finally the last twisted length wrapped around his shoulders dropped to the concrete floor with a metallic clatter.
Jason sagged forward immediately.
Y/n caught him before he could hit the floor. The second her hands touched him fully, she realized how badly he was shaking.
Not cold but from shock.
“Hey hey,” she murmured quickly, adjusting her grip around him. “Stay with me.”
Jason nodded once against her shoulder, though the movement looked unfocused. Y/n reached quickly for the restraint bolted around his wrists. The lockpick slipped once in her bloody fingers before she forced herself to steady.
Click.
One wrist free.
Then the other.
The second the restraints released completely, Jason nearly collapsed out of the chair. Y/n caught him hard against her side with a strained gasp as pain ripped through her ribs again.
“Easy,” she breathed sharply.
Jason tried to stand anyway.
Immediately stumbled.
His knee buckled so hard she barely caught him in time before both of them went down together.
“Okay,”Y/n muttered breathlessly, tightening her grip around his waist. “Maybe not walking yet.”
“I can walk,” Jason slurred stubbornly.
“You literally just folded like a lawn chair.”
Despite everything, she heard the faintest broken huff leave him. Y/n pressed two fingers quickly against her comm.
“I’ve got him.”
For half a second nobody answered. Dick’s voice hit first, sharp with relief.
“You found him?”
“Yes.” Her voice cracked slightly despite herself, “He’s alive.”
A beat of silence followed.
Even through comms she could hear the emotional whiplash hit all of them at once.
Then Bruce.
“Status.”
“Injured. Badly.” Y/n adjusted Jason’s arm more securely around her shoulder. “But conscious.”
Gunfire erupted loudly through Bruce’s side of comms before he spoke again.
“More hostiles are incoming. At least fifteen.”
Tim swore somewhere nearby.
“They’re pouring in from the north alley now,” he said quickly. “We can’t break away yet.”
Y/n looked toward the garage entrance instinctively.
Bruce’s voice came low and immediate.
“Stay inside.”
Her jaw tightened .“Bruce-”
“We don’t know how many are still on the premises,” he cut in sharply. “Do not move towards the exits until we clear the perimeter.”
Another crash echoed outside. Jason flinched weakly against her. Y/n looked around quickly. The open garage suddenly felt enormous. Too exposed. Her eyes snapped toward the back hallway near the tool storage. The office. Small, enclosed, one entrance. Defensible.
“I’m moving him to the office,” she said in a hurry.
“Copy,” Tim answered.
Y/n adjusted her grip around Jason carefully before forcing both of them upright again. Jason bit back a sound as weight hit his legs.
“I got you.” she whispered quickly.
“You always do,” he muttered weakly.
Together they staggered slowly toward the back hallway, Jason leaning heavily against her side while distant fighting continued raging outside the building. Neither of them noticed the drops of blood marking their path across the concrete floor as they stumbled deeper into the auto shop.
A few became a dozen.
A dozen became a trail.
Easy to follow. Easy to find.
Hiiii 😅 it has been a while and I’m very sorry. This year has been kicking my ass since the very beginning and everything got a bit too much. I lost interest in everything I enjoyed, it took me a bit to find my way back. But here we are! I was supposed to post this last week but chaos and I wanted to delay it even more because it’s hot as fuck in Europe but I couldn’t make you wait longer than you already did.
What you may noticed as well is that it’s significantly shorter than normal but I thought if I make it shorter I can post more regularly and you guys are fed. A win win for everyone.
I hope you enjoyed it!
You can still request a story! It may take some time because I have a few that I still need to finishes! Sorry for the people that are still waiting, please forgive me.
Taglist: @powder-fell-down-a-well @thesleepiestpilot @po0ki3 @f1flowergirl @whiskeymeaway92 @ijustneeddcc @keeperofhearts1
Fourth chapter of Just friend?
Fourth chapter of Just friend?
Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader
Ao3: Time flies when you're having fun.
Divider by: @uzmacchiato
Word count: 14.2k
Masterlist
Ao3
Summary: Will they be on time?
Warnings: Violence, blood, trauma, torture
Tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, mental health issues, eventual smut, trauma, violence, blood, torture
Note: Hello everyone! I'm so sorry for the constant delay, to be honest not my favorite chapter. I feel like I couldn't give it my all, but I tried and that's all that matters. I've to keep in mind that I'm still a beginner and all of this is new to me. Big thank you to my bestie for reading and correcting stuff, because I was losing my mind. I'd tag her but silly doesn't have an tumblr account. I hope you like it!
Your likes, reposts and/or comments are very much appericated.
< Chapter 3- Chapter 5 >
Pain arrived first.
Not sharp, not sudden, but everywhere. A deep, grinding ache that threaded through his shoulders and down his arms, heavy and insistent, like his bones were being pulled apart one inch at a time. His wrists burned. Not the clean sting of a fresh cut, but the raw, grinding heat of metal against his skin, friction layered over pressure layered over time.
His breath hitched.
His eyes flew open.
For a split second, he didn’t understand what he was seeing. The ceiling was too far away, swallowed by darkness. Light, harsh and white, cut down from somewhere above, catching on dust in the air. The world tilted when he tried to move.
That was when the chains answered him. They groaned, low and metallic, the sound vibrating straight through his arms and into his chest.
Jason froze.
His heart slammed into his ribs, wild and uncoordinated. Panic surged so fast it stole the air from his lungs. He sucked in a breath that scraped his throat raw and tried to pull his arms down. Pain exploded through his shoulders.
A sharp, helpless sound tore out of him before he could stop it, half a gasp, half a growl. His muscles spasmed, reflexively fighting the restraint, and the chains bit deeper into his wrists.
He sagged instinctively.
His feet scraped concrete. Barely.
The tips of his toes dragged along the floor, enough to keep him from fully hanging, not enough to give him relief. His heels hovered uselessly above the ground. Every ounce of his weight pulled downward, stretching his shoulders, wrenching his arms back and up at an angle that made his vision blur at the edges.
No,no,no.
He forced himself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through clenched teeth.
The air was stale. Cold. It tasted like rust and old oil and something faintly chemical underneath. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out everything else.
Think. Don’t panic.
Easier said than done.
Jason turned his head slowly, careful not to sway too much. The room revealed itself in pieces: concrete walls disappearing into shadow, stains he didn’t want to look at too closely, the faint outline of industrial equipment pushed against the wall. No windows. No obvious exits. Just darkness.
A warehouse, maybe. Or a storage facility. Somewhere forgotten.
Joker.
The name slid into his mind uninvited, heavy and poisonous. The memory of their altercation comes back in flashes.
Jason swallowed, throat tight.
He tested his wrists, rotating them a fraction of an inch. The chains were looped tight, reinforced. Cold iron pressed into his skin already rubbed raw. Any real struggle would tear flesh long before it bent metal.
Okay. Fine.
He let his head fall forward for a moment, chin brushing his chest. His hair hung into his eyes, damp with sweat. His breathing came fast and shallow, but he forced it to slow down, counting each inhale, each exhale.
You don’t waste energy panicking.
That was rule one.
His toes slid again, an involuntary reflex as his legs searched for relief. The scrape echoed softly across the floor. The sound felt too loud, too exposed, like he was announcing his existence to the room.
Jason stilled, he listened.
Nothing.
No footsteps, no laughter. No voice drifting from the shadows. Just the faint hum of electricity somewhere far off and the slow creak of chains responding to his breathing.
He was alone. For now, the realization didn’t comfort him the way it should have. Alone meant time and time in Joker’s hands, was never neutral.
Jason began cataloging damage, forcing his mind into familiar territory. Wrists raw, already burning, no numbness yet, good. That meant circulation hadn’t fully cut off. His arms were shaking slightly, not weakness yet, just strain. His back was arched, muscles screaming as it worked overtime to stabilize him. His legs were tense, calves burning as he stayed on the balls of his feet. Toes dragging just enough to keep him upright.
His shoulders were the worst of them all. A deep, spreading pain that warned him exactly how long he could stay like this before something gave out.
Designed, he thought grimly. This is designed.
If he fully collapsed, all his weight would snap down onto his shoulders. If he tried to stand too much, he’d lose what little leverage he had. If he thrashed, he’d bleed and exhaust himself quicker.
It was a balance. A cruel one.
Jason shifted his weight carefully, dragging one foot a few inches to the side, then the other. The movement was tiny, barely noticeable, but it changed the angle of the pull just enough to send a sharp spike of pain through his arms.
He hissed through his teeth and stopped.
He adjusted again, slower this time, micro-movements only. A slight bend in the knees. A controlled drop of his heels that immediately sent fire up his legs, forcing him back onto his toes.
His mind raced, searching for options.
There was no chair to kick out. No crate to hook a foot under. No pipe low enough to brace against. Joker knew exactly how to remove leverage without fully immobilizing him.
Jason laughed softly under his breath, a humorless sound that echoed too much.
“This is just great,” he muttered hoarsely to the empty room.
The sound of his own voice grounded him, just a little. Reminded him he was still here. Still thinking.
He tried to estimate time. How long had he been out? Minutes? Hours? His body felt like it had already been suspended too long, muscles protesting the unfamiliar strain.
His throat was dry. Swallowing hurt.
They took my gear, he realized. No helmet, no comms. Just his clothes, torn, damp, sticking to his skin. His boots were gone too, leaving his feet exposed to the cold concrete.
A calculated move. He dragged his toes again, just a fraction, testing friction. The concrete was rough enough to catch skin if he pushed too hard. Another calculated cruelty.
Jason’s breathing steadied as his panic ebbed into something colder and sharper. Fear was still there, loud, insistent, but it was no longer in control. He began experimenting in earnest. A small sway to the left. Chains creaked. A controlled sway to the right. More creaking. The anchor point held firm.
He rotated his wrist again, carefully, ignoring the way the metal bit deeper. The chains links were thick, industrial. No weak points he could feel. No slack to exploit.
His shoulders trembled, muscles threatening to give. He immediately shifted weight onto his toes again, calves screaming as they took some of the load.
You can do this, he told himself. You’ve had worse.
Time crawled. Minutes stretched long and indistinct, measured only by the growing burn in his arms and the ache settling deep into his bones. He lost track of how many times he adjusted his stance, how many times his muscles spasmed and he had to fight to keep control. One of his legs buckled unexpectedly.
His heart lurched into his throat as his heels dropped fully, his weight snapping down into his shoulders. White-hot pain exploded through him, stars bursting behind his eyes. He cried out, a sharp, broken sound, before clamping his jaw shut.
Idiot.
He scrambled to recover, dragging his toes hard against the concrete until his calves screamed and his heels lifted again. The relief was minimal, but it was enough to keep his shoulders from tearing.His breath came fast and ragged.
Focus.
He forced himself to slow it again, counting heartbeats this time. Anything to keep his mind occupied. Anything to keep it from spiraling. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped. Slow. Steady. A metronome marking time he couldn’t see.
Jason tilted his head back, staring into the light. It hurt his eyes, but he welcomed the distraction.Sweat dripped down into his lashes, blurring his vision.
His arms shook harder now, fatigue creeping in despite his efforts. His wrists burned, skin screaming with every tiny movement. He could already feel blisters forming, raw patches where the metal had rubbed too long. Blood would come soon. Jason swallowed, jaw tight.
Okay. So what’s the play?
Escaping right now was unlikely. He knew that. Whatever restraint held him was meant to last. But staying alert mattered. Conserving energy mattered. Not letting fear take over mattered.
And if, when Joker showed up…
Jason’s expression hardened.
He wouldn’t give him what he wanted. Another twitch ran through his arm, muscle spasming under the strain. His heart skipped, panic flaring again before he forced it down. He adjusted quickly, compensating, breathing through the pain.
Control the body, he told himself. Then control the situation.
Jason couldn’t tell when the first hour ended and the second began, only that something shifted. The pain stopped being loud and sharp and became constant, a grinding presence that sank into his muscles and refused to leave. His shoulders felt swollen, overworked, like they were being held together by willpower alone. Every breath pulled against them. Every swallow hurt.
Sweat cooled against his skin, turning clammy in the stale air.
His calves trembled in earnest now. The careful balance he’d found earlier was slipping, his legs struggling to compensate for the strain in his arms. He dragged his toes across the concrete again, slower this time, friction biting into his skin.
Stay upright, he told himself. Just stay upright.
The room felt smaller.
Not physically, but mentally, like the walls were inching closer, like the darkness pressed in when he wasn’t watching it. The hum of electricity seemed louder now, pulsing faintly through the room. The drip of water somewhere in the distance had grown maddeningly steady.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Jason clenched his jaw.
Ignore it.
He shifted again, carefully redistributing his weight. His wrists screamed in protest. He could feel warmth trickling down his forearms now, sweat, blood, or both. He didn’t look. Looking would make it real. A sudden dizziness washed over him, fast and disorienting.
He sucked in a sharp breath and held it, grounding himself. His vision blurred at the edges, the light above smearing into something hazy and unfocused.
Okay. That’s new.
Dehydration, probably. Or shock. Or his body starting to complain louder. Jason forced himself to blink slowly, counting each one. Five. Ten. Fifteen. The world steadied.He tilted his head slightly, listening again. That was when he heard it.
Footsteps. Slow. Unhurried. Echoing faintly against concrete.
Jason’s muscles went rigid on instinct. Pain flared and his body reacted before his brain could stop it. The chains rattled softly.The footsteps stopped.
Silence stretched. Then.
A laugh. Low at first. Almost thoughtful. Like someone amused by an inside joke.Jason closed his eyes.
Here we go.
“Well, well,” the voice drawled, drifting easily through the dark. “You always did wake up faster than expected.” The light shifted. A second bulb flickered on somewhere to Jason’s left, illuminating a slice of the room he hadn’t seen before. Metal shelves. A worktable. Tools laid out neatly, almost lovingly. And leaning casually against the table, hands folded behind his back:
The Joker.
His suit was wrinkled, the purple dulled with grime. Green hair slicked back unevenly, like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. His smile stretched wide, familiar and deeply wrong. Jason exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Thought I told you,” he rasped, voice raw. “I don’t do surprise parties.” Joker clapped his hands together, delighted. The sound cracked sharply through the room. “Oh, but that’s the best kind! No expectations! No disappointment!”
He stepped closer, his footsteps echoing again, stopping just outside Jason’s reach. Joker turned his head, inspecting him like a piece of art hung too high on the wall. “Tsk,tsk,” he hummed. “You look tired. We’ve got to do something about that, shall we?”
Jason’s fingers curled reflexively, chains biting deeper. His shoulders screamed, but he didn’t react outwardly. Joker’s smile twitched.He circled Jason slowly, footsteps deliberate, shoes scraping just enough to stay heard. Jason tracked him with his eyes, neck protesting as he turned his head inch by inch.
“You know,” Joker continued. “I almost didn’t use chains. Thought about nails. Thought about hooks. But this?” He gestured vaguely at Jason’s arms. “This lets you participate. I’m generous like that.”
Jason swallowed.
A gloved finger pressed lightly into Jason’s spine. Jason hissed despite himself, muscles tightening involuntarily. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his shoulders, his arms trembling harder now. Joker laughed, delighted. “Oh, that’s new. Sensitive already? We’re making progress!”
Jason forced his breathing to steady again, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. He refused to give Joker more than he already had. “Have a lot of time to plan this?” Jason asked hoarsely. “Or did you miss me that much?”
Joker leaned around into his line of sight, face inches away. His breath smelled faintly of chemicals and something sweetly rotten.“I missed the family,” he corrected. “You’re just the invitation.” Jason’s stomach dropped. Before he could respond, Joker stepped back abruptly, clapping his hands again. “Now, let’s check the hardware!”
He reached up suddenly and yanked one of the chains downward. Jason cried out, the sound ripped from him as his shoulder jolted violently. His feet lost contact with the floor entirely for a split second before his toes scraped back down, barely catching him.
Pain exploded through his arms. His vision went white, then dark at the edges. He gasped, chest heaving.
Joker hummed approvingly. “Still holding. That’s impressive.”
Jason hung there, shaking, breath coming in ragged pulls. His arms felt numb now, a dangerous, creeping numbness that scared him more than the pain.
Don’t black out, he begged silently. Not now.
Joker tilted his head, studying him. “You know you always were my favorite test subject. So much grit. So much anger. It’s like pulling teeth, but the teeth fight back.”
Jason forced himself to lift his head, eyes burning. “Get it over with,” he spat. “Whatever this is.”
Joker’s expression softened into something almost fond.
“Oh, no,no,no,” he said gently. “We’re just getting started.”
He turned away, strolling back towards the shadows, turning the lights off, his laughter trailing behind him like a stain.
Jason learned quickly that the Joker didn’t believe in silence.
The moment the light cut earlier, Jason assumed, hoped, it meant a temporary reprieve. Time to breathe. Time to recalibrate. Time to let his muscles settle into misery without someone actively making it worse.
But the footsteps never truly left.
They just shifted.
Soft shoes against concrete. The faint rustles of fabric. Joker moving somewhere just beyond the edge of the light, deliberately out of sight but never out of earshot. Like a predator circling, letting its presence sink in.
Jason swallowed, throat dry and burning.
His arms shook uncontrollably now. Not violently, worse than that. Small, persistent tremors that refused to stop. The kind that meant muscles were exhausting themselves trying to hold on. His toes scraped weakly against the floor.
Don’t lock your knees.
Don’t let the weight hang fully.
Don’t panic.
“Y’know,” Joker said casually from the dark, “most people scream by now.”
Jason forced a breath through his nose.
A light flickered on again, brighter this time, harsher, angled straight at Jason’s face. He blinked against it, eyes stinging as his pupils struggled to adjust. White spots danced across his vision, his jaw tightening.
“Let’s talk about control,” Joker said brightly. “See, you’ve had a lot of it. Even hanging there, you’re managing. Shifting weight, thinking how to breathe, planning.”
He pouted exaggeratedly. “That simply won’t do.”
Joker pressed a button.
Pain slammed into Jason without warning.
Not sharp. Not cutting.
Electrical.
Jason’s body convulsed violently, muscles seizing as a jolt tore through his arms, shoulders, spine. His feet kicked out uselessly, toes scraping desperately as his grip on control vanished in an instant.
A strangled sound ripped from his throat.
The shock stopped as abruptly as it began.
Jason gasped, chest heaving, vision swimming. His arms burned like they’d been doused in fire. The numbness vanished, replaced with a screaming sensation.
Joker tilted his head. “See? Predictable pain lets you brace for it. This?” He waggled the remote. “This keeps you guessing.”
Jason swallowed hard, sweat dripping down his temple.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “Real creative.”
Joker clicked his tongue. “Don’t be rude. You haven’t even seen the settings yet.”
He paced closer, his shoes tapping against the concrete. Jason’s body betrayed him with another shudder, muscles flinching in anticipation.
Joker noticed. “Ohhh,” he cooed. “That’s the look. That little twitch? That’s uncertainty setting in.” He pressed another button.
Nothing happened.
Jason sucked in a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Joker laughed loudly. “Oh, that was cruel, wasn't it?” Jason’s teeth ground together. He refused to look away.
The next shock came five seconds later.
Stronger.
Jason screamed this time. There was no stopping it. His body arched against the chains, shoulders screaming as the strain multiplied. His toes slipped, losing friction as his weight dragged fully against his wrists for a horrifying second.
The pain cut out. He sagged, gasping, lungs burning, arms trembling violently.
Joker watched him like a scientist observing a reaction.
“Now,” Joker said slightly, “that was controlled, well by me. Same voltage. Same duration. Clean. Efficient.” He crouched slightly, meeting Jason’s eye line. “But tell me, Jason, did it feel worse than the first one?”
Jason’s vision blurred. He forced it to focus. Refusing to answer him.Joker beamed. “I’ll take that as a yes! And that was because you didn’t know when it was coming.”
He stood again, strolling away, humming tunelessly. “And here’s the fun part,” he said, voice dropping just slightly. “I don’t even need the button.”
Jason frowned faintly.
Joker leaned in close again, smiling sharply. “Because now? You’ll feel it whenever I press it or not,” Joker lets out a manic laugh. Jason’s stomach twisted.
Joker straightened, clapping once more. “Let’s try something else!” He reached out and suddenly shoved Jason’s chest. Not hard. Just enough.
Jason’s balance broke instantly. His feet slipped fully off the ground, toes scraping uselessly as his entire weight yanked down on his wrists. White-hot pain exploded through his shoulders.
Jason roared, head snapping back as the chains rattled violently overhead, pulling him up. His arms burned, tendons screaming, vision tunneling.
Joker stepped back and watched.
Counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then he let Jason’s toes scrape back down, just barely catching enough friction to reduce the strain.
Jason collapsed into ragged breathing, sweat pouring freely now, arms shaking so badly he could barely keep himself upright.
Joker signed contentedly. “Unpredictable physical pain. No tools needed.”
Jason forced himself to lift his head, breathing hard. “You done?”
Joker’s smile faded.
“Oh,” he said, softly. “We’re just warming up.”
He leaned casually against the nearby table, folding his arms. “Tell me, Jason… how long do you think it’ll take before someone notices you’re gone?”
Jason didn’t answer.
Joker didn’t need him to.
“Batman?” Joker mused. “Always so busy. So many little birds to keep track of.” He tilted his head. “Though he does have that one who worries too much.”
Jason’s breath stuttered.
Joker’s eyes gleamed.
“There it is".
Jason clenched his jaw. “Don’t.”
“Oh, come on,” Joker said pleasantly. “I’m being gentle. Just conversation.”
He pushed off the table, strolling closer again. “She’s clever, isn’t she? Resourceful. Sharp. Always watching.”
Jason’s heart pounded hard enough to hurt.
Don’t react.
Joker circled him slowly. “I almost admire it. The way she slips through places she shouldn’t be. She almost caught me a few times. The way she looks at you like you’re something worth saving.”
Jason’s hands clenched reflexively, chains biting into already raw, bleeding skin.
Joker stopped in front of him.
“You didn’t think I would notice,” he said softly. "Did you?”
Jason’s voice came out rough. “You touch her-”
Joker laughed, sharp and delighted. “There it is! Anger! Took you long enough.” He leaned in close, eyes gleaming. “Relax. You’re not the punchline.”
Dread pooled in Jason’s stomach. “You’re the bait.”
Joker straightened, pressing the remote again. The shock was brief. Almost merciful.
Jason gasped, muscles jerking violently, breath tearing out of him. Joker watched him recover, expression thoughtful. “See, pain’s only interesting when it means something.”
He gestured vaguely between them. “This? This is tradition. Nostalgia.” Then he tapped Jason’s chest, right over his heart. “But she?” Joker grinned. “She’s new.”
Jason’s vision swam, fury and fear tangling dangerously in his chest. Joker stepped back, satisfied.
“We’ll talk more later,” he said cheerfully. “Right now, I want you tired.”
He flicked the light off again, but stayed. Jason could still hear him breathing in the dark.
Jason didn’t know how much time had passed.
That realization alone was enough to make his stomach turn.
He’d tried to count at first, breaths, heartbeat, the slow drip of sweat sliding down his spine, but pain distorted rhythm. Shocks came without a pattern. Weight shifts stole focus. At some point, numbers stopped lining up the way they should.
Time had gone soft around the edges.
Which was exactly what Joker wanted.
Jason didn’t hear the footsteps this time. That was how he knew he was losing ground. The darkness had been thick for a while, long enough that his eyes stopped trying to adjust. His arms burned with a deep, nauseating ache that had long since passed sharp pain and settled into something worse.
The light came back in without warning.
Jason flinched hard, shoulders screaming as his muscles spasmed at the sudden change.
His toes scraped against the floor, barely catching enough friction to keep his weight from fully dropping again.
Joker stood directly in front of him this time.
Close.
“Booh!” Joker’s laugh cut through the silence. “Round of applause! You’re doing great, Jason!”
Jason’s head lolled forward, breath shuddering. He forced it back up through sheer stubbornness, jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth ache.
Joker was holding something this time.
The crowbar hung loose in his grip, black paint chipped and darkened with old stains that Jason didn’t need help identifying. His stomach dropped. Joker circled slowly around him.
“Ah-ah,” Joker sang lightly, noticing the flicker of recognition. “Don’t go all nostalgic on me just yet. We’re making new memories.”
He strolled closer, humming off-key. “You know, people think this thing’s all about brute force. Smash,smash,smash.” He tapped the crowbar against his palm. “But that’s lazy.”
He stopped directly in front of Jason.
Without warning, Joker swung.
The crowbar struck his ribs, low and precise.
Jason gasped sharply as pain exploded through his side. His body jerked reflexively, his toes scraping frantically as his weight dropped and then was yanked back by the chains.
His wrist screamed.
Joker hummed, pleased. “See? It wasn’t that hard!”
Jason sucked in a ragged breath, vision tunneling. His arms shook violently now, muscles firing without coordination as his nervous system misfired under the overload.
“Controlled pain,” Joker said brightly. “That’s the theme today.”
He struck again.
Same spot.
Jason cried out this time, a raw, broken sound he couldn’t stop. His knees buckled, toes barely catching enough friction to keep him from fully hanging.
The crowbar pressed under his chin, lifting his face.
“Now, now,” Joker scolded gently. “Don’t faint on me. That’s rude.”
Jason’s jaw trembled as he tried to breathe through it. His hands twitched against the chains, fingers curling, then spasming open.
Joker’s eyes flicked to his hands instantly.
“What was that?” He let out a manic laugh. “Your body’s talking without asking you first.”
He stepped back and swung the crowbar again, this time at Jason’s thigh.
The impact sent a jolt of agony straight through his leg. His foot kicked out sharply. Jason shouted, breath tearing free of his lungs as his entire lower body spasmed.
Joker laughed so hard he had to steady himself against a crate.
“Oh, I love this part,” he wheezed. “The lost look in your eyes!”
Jason’s chest heaved. His vision swam. His muscles betrayed him in sharp, ugly bursts. Legs jerking, hands twitching, shoulder spasming as his nerves misfired under the strain.
He couldn’t stop it.
Joker circled him slowly again, the crowbar dragging lightly along the concrete.
Scrape.
Scrape.
“You know what exhaustion does?” Joker mused. “It strips away choice. Leaves you with reflexes and instinct.” He leaned in close. “And instincts are so easy to play with.”
Jason forced the words out through clenched teeth. “You…won’t get… what you want.”
Joker paused, then he laughed again, but this time quieter.
“Oh, Jason,” he said softly. “You still think you’re the point.”
He straightened and tapped the crowbar against Jason’s knee.
“Tell me,” Joker continued conversationally, “who do you think will panic more over this?”
Jason swallowed hard.
“A big bat that had you replaced in no time…” Joker tilted his head. “...Or the one person you keep trying to protect?"
Jason’s breath hitched, Joker’s smile widened.
He stepped back and struck Jason’s shoulder, harder this time.
Jason screamed, the sound ripping out of him as his body convulsed violently. His hands spasmed against the chains. He gasped for air, chest heaving, his arms shaking uncontrollably now.
Joker’s grin turned razor-sharp.
The blow came without warning.
Not a tease.
Not a measured strike.
The crowbar cracked across Jason’s face with a sickening, hollow sound.
His head snapped sideways violently, neck screaming as momentum tore through him. The world spun, light fracturing into useless shards as his teeth slammed together hard enough that he tasted blood instantly, metallic, thick, flooding his mouth.
The sound that ripped out of him was raw and broken, echoing off the walls before he even knew he’d made it.
“That’s the face!”Joker laughed.
Jason’s body reacted faster than his thoughts. His arms jerked violently against the chains, shoulders screaming as the sudden movement wrenched them past tolerance. He gagged, coughing wetly, head lolling forward. Blood dripped from his lip, warm against his chin.
Joker tilted his head, studying him like a piece of art. “You know,” he lectured, “everyone thinks it’s the body that breaks first.”
He tapped the crowbar against Jason’s jaw once. Not hard. Just enough.
“But it’s really orientation,” Joker continued. “Take away up and down. Take away control. The brain hates that.”
Jason’s vision swam. He tried to focus, to anchor himself to something real. He forced himself to breath through his nose, shallow and shaky. His jaw ached where it had been struck. His face throbbed in time with his pulse.
The next strike wasn’t to his jaw.
It was worse.
The crowbar came up fast and brutal, the flat end slamming across Jason’s face at an angle that clipped his cheekbone and smashed into his eye socket. Pain detonated behind his eyes, sharp and blinding, like glass shattering inside his skull.
He screamed again, this one strangled and panicked.
His vision collapsed into stars and red static. One eye burned white-hot, tears flooded instantly, blurring the little light remaining. His head snapped back, the chains snapping as his shoulders screamed in protest.
Joker hummed approvingly.
“Oooh,” he crooned. “That’s a sensitive one.”
Jason gagged, coughing, breath coming in broken gasps as his eyes throbbed relentlessly. He tried to blink it away, but it only made the pain worse, like grinding grit beneath his eyelid.
His body was betraying him again.
A sharp jerk ran through both arms. His fingers twitched violently, scraping against the metal as his weight shifted. His toes skidding as his knees buckled.
Tap. Scrape.
Jason clenched his jaw, forcing his breath to stay shallow, controlled. His eye pulsed with agony, vision uneven now, one side dim and smeared, the other too bright and too sharp.
Joker laughed loudly, stepping closer so Jason could see every wrinkle on his face. Joker lifted the crowbar again. “Now, here’s the fun part,” he said proudly. “You don’t get to choose when I hurt you. That’s my job!”
He tapped the crowbar once against Jason’s ribs. Not hard. A promise.
Then he stepped back.
“Sit tight.”
The light snapped off again, Joker leaving the room this time.
Jason sagged forward as much as the chains allowed, breath shuddering. His eye throbbed relentlessly now, swollen shut, vision reduced to smears and shadows. His wrists burned. His shoulders screamed. Every muscle in his body vibrated with exhaustion and shock.
And still his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Tiny tremors ran through his fingers. His grip flexed uselessly against the chains, scraping metal again and again in short, broken movements.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Pause.
Jason froze.
His chest tightened painfully,
No.
Another one followed.
Tap.
His breath caught hard in his throat.
The rhythm wasn’t clean. It wasn’t intentional.
But it was close enough that his brain latched onto it like a drowning man grabbing wreckage.
And suddenly, he wasn’t here anymore.
The roof of the abandoned auto shop raffled faintly under the weight of their boots, the humid Gotham night pressing down on them. At fifteen, they were old enough to know the streets, they learned that too soon, but young enough to feel invincible.
Jason crouched beside Y/n, legs pulled up against his chest. His hair clung wet to his forehead from the clammy summer night, droplets of sweat sliding down his face. He leaned closer, voice low.
“We’ve got eyes on us.”
Y/n followed his gaze. A man lingered down below, too tall to go unnoticed, coat too thick for the summer heat. Observant, patient.
“What do we do?” she whispered, not taking her eyes off the suspicious guy.
Jason grinned like it was a dare. “We communicate. Quietly.”
He tapped a knuckle against the metal railing.
Tap.Tap-tap. Pause. Tap.
Y/n squinted. “What’s that?”
“Code. Our code,” he said. “Just…ignore the patterns everyone else knows. We make it ours.”
She tiled her head. “Our code for what?”
“For everything. Cops. Muggers. Anyone listening. Just…for us. Only us.”
He showed her the rhythm again.
Tap.Tap-tap.Pause.Tap.
Y/n tried to mimic it. Her fingers didn’t land the same. He corrected her grip, thumb and forefinger, a subtle adjustment.
“It’s not just about the beat,” he said. “It’s about meaning, timing and placement,”
She rolled her eyes but leaned closer. “Fine. So what’s what?”
He shrugged, expression serious for once. “Not letters. Not numbers. Not anything obvious. Just…signals.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing in thought. “One tap? Means ‘move left.’ Two taps? ‘Move right.’ Three taps?’ Here. And the pause… pause means ‘watch out.’ Or ‘wait.’ It depends.”
Y/n frowned. “Depends on what?”
“Depends on what we need. Depends on what’s happening.” His grin returned, mischievous but sharp. “And,uh…if it’s really bad… you’ll just know.”
She laughed quietly, but there was a shiver under it. “So it’s a code with no fixed key. That’s kind of insane.”
Jason leaned back, letting the setting sun shine down on his face, the burnt-orange light making him look almost innocent. “Exactly. Insane enough that nobody else will get it.”
He tapped a short sequence.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap.Tap.
“Okay,” Y/n said, eyes narrowing, fingers itching to respond. “That could mean anything.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But someday, you’ll get it. You’ll know exactly what I mean without me telling you. That’s the point.”
Then, softer, almost a whisper: “Here. It means here. You know…right here with me. Not anywhere else.”
Y/n froze, heart catching. That one phrase, simple, ridiculous, ordinary, except that it wasn’t.
Jason gasped as the memory snapped apart.
Pain rushed back, his eye burning, wrists screaming, shoulders shaking. His breath came out ragged, chest heaving.
“Shit,” he whispered hoarsely.
His fingers twitched again.
Tap.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
“No,” he breathed. “No, no-”
But the memory had unlocked something his brain couldn’t ignore now.
The smell.
Oil. Rust. Old grease.
Auto grease.
Jason’s breath stuttered.
The echo, wrong before, suddenly made sense. The shape of the space. The way the sound bounced. The height of the ceiling. The chains bolted into reinforced steel beams.
His good eye widened. “Holy shit,” he murmured.
He dragged his toes weakly against the floor, feeling it clearly now, the uneven concrete. The familiar slope.
The autoshop. Abandoned now.
The one they used to steal from. The one they sold the same scraps out of back to. The one they’d hidden on the roof of, laughing and whispering. The place where they made up their own morse code, that nobody else would understand, just them.
Jason swallowed hard, throat burning.
Here.
Not metaphorical.
Not symbolic.
Here.
His fingers trembled again, small, but now his mind understood what his body was trying to say.
The autoshop hadn’t changed much in years, not really. Gotham forgot places like this slowly. They rotted, sank inward. Collected dust and ghosts. He could picture it now without trying, the exposed beams, the old hoist they never trusted, the cracked concrete floor with the shallow dip near the drain. The place where Y/n once slipped and swore that if he told anyone she would kill him.
A faint, painful smile tugged at his mouth.
Here, his brain echoed again.
Jason dragged in a slow breath though his nose, forcing himself to calm down. Panic would get him nowhere. Panic would make him loud. Sloppy.
And loud got you killed.
He tested his weight carefully, shifting just enough to ease the strain on his shoulders without making the chains rattle too much.
Tap.
He froze.
Idiot.
The sound echoed too much in his head, even if the room itself swallowed it. He stilled himself immediately, heart pounding.
“No more accidents,” he whispered to himself.
He needed control.
The Joker didn’t know he’d figured it out.
That mattered. That was leverage, thin and fragile leverage, but it was something.
Jason swallowed, jaw tightening.
Y/n, he thought fiercely. If anyone would catch it, it’s you.
She’d always noticed the small things. The things people missed. The way his hands moved when he was thinking. The rhythm he fell into when he was hurt, when he was nervous, when he was trying not to say something out loud.
And their code wasn’t neat. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t something you could write down and decode with a chart.
It lived in timing. In intent. In context.
Which meant it was useless unless you knew him.
Unless someone knew them.
He practiced it in his head first.
Not the pain. That part was unavoidable. No, he practiced control.
One movement looks like a spasm.
Two looks like weakness.
A pause looks like him trying not to pass out.
His hands shook no matter what he did. He stopped fighting it. Let the tremor exist. Learned its rhythm. Learned how much force it took to make metal whisper without screaming.
You only get one chance, he told himself. They have to see it.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Jason let his head drop immediately, chin slumping to his chest as he sagged into the chains. He loosened every muscle on purpose, shoulders dropping, knees bending just enough that his toes dragged softly against the floor.
Breathing shallow. Uneven.
The door creaked open. Light flooded in, harsh and white, stabbing through his closed eyelids. He kept them shut anyway, lashes pressed together hard, especially on the swollen side. He felt the room change with Joker’s presence. The air itself seemed to lean closer.
“Aww,” Joker sang. “Looks like somebody missed his beauty sleep.”
Jason didn’t react.
He felt Joker circle him once more, like a predator hunting his prey. Fingers snapped near his ear. A low chuckle.
Suddenly Jason hears a low hum, he looks up slightly.
A camera.
Its motor whined softly, louder than the chains. Jason felt it before he saw it, the shift in the atmosphere, the way Joker straightened, posture changing from tormentor to performer.
Joker stepped into frame.
Jason kept his head down, hair hanging into his face. He counted his breaths.
Three in. Two out. Don’t pass out.
“Well,well,well,” Joker drawled, voice syrup-thick and delighted, pitched perfectly for the lens. “Looks like the family’s all tuned in! I do love a reunion show.”
Jason’s jaw tightened.
They’re watching.
Behind Joker, chains creaked. Jason felt the vibration travel up his arms, through his shoulders, into his skull. He forced himself not to react, not to lift his head yet.
Joker clapped his hands once.
The sound cracked sharp enough to make Jason flinch despite himself, a reflex he cursed immediately. The audio would spike there, Barbara would notice that later. Joker always loved distortion.
“I know, I know,” Joker continued brightly, pacing just out of Jason’s peripheral vision. “You’re all worried sick about our mutual friend. So I thought I’d share the fun.”
Footsteps. Slow. Intentional.
Jason’s pulse hammered harder as Joker moved towards him,. The camera followed.
The lens dipped.
Focused.
His feet.
Bare.
Bruised, scraped raw, toes curling involuntarily against the cold concrete as his weight shifted. Blood smeared along the floor beneath them, footprints half-formed where he’d dragged himself back upright again and again.
Joker lingered there. Letting it sink in.
Then the camera began to rise.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Cruel.
Jason let his head hang heavy as the lens climbed, breath shallow, chest barely moving. Every bruise under his skin burned like a separate brand. One eye throbbed, half-swollen shut, the other glossy and unfocused. Blood dried dark along his hairline and mouth.
The camera reached his face.
“Don’t be shy, Jason!” Joker cooed, fingers tangling in his hair as he yanked his head up. Pain flared sharp and blinding, stars bursting behind his eyes as the lens locked onto his face. “Smile for the family.”
Jason coughed, harsh and wet, blood flecking his lips. He forced his head to stay up, forced himself to meet the camera head-on. Not Joker.
The lens.
She’s watching.
Don’t…” His voice came out raw, but steady enough to carry. “Don’t come for me.”
As the words left his mouth, his right hand jerked against the chain.
Tap-tap.
It looked like a tremor. Like pain.
“He wants you,” Jason rasped, swallowing thickly. “Not me.”
Pause.
The silence between movements stretched just long enough to matter.
His fingers struck again.
Tap.
A spasm rolled through his shoulders. His toes curled against the concrete, bare skin scraping as his knees threatened to give out. Joker barely noticed, too busy watching Jason’s face for fear, for begging.
His fingers moved again.
Tap-tap.
The chain rattles softly. Natural. Accidental.
“Don’t-” he tried. Joker yanked his hair tighter, cutting him off with a theatrical sigh. “Oh, don’t be dramatic, sunshine. You’ll ruin the surprise.”
Jason's fingers tapped one last time.
Tap.
He let his head lol forward as the Joker released him, letting his body sag, hands shaking violently now. He didn’t repeat the pattern. Couldn’t risk it.
One signal.
That was all he had.
“Oh, Batsy,” Joker purred, turning the camera back toward him. “You’re probably wondering what the rules are this time."
Jason focused on staying upright, slipping slightly in his own blood as Joker monologued. His vision tunneled, edges darkening.
"Simple!" Joker chirped. “You’ve got until sunrise.”
Jason counted heartbeats. Held onto consciousness with his teeth.
“After that,” Joker leaned close enough that the lens caught the cracks in his makeup, “let’s just say history repeats.”
“Don’t be late this time.”
The camera cut.
Darkness swallowed the room. Jason hung there, replaying the last minutes in his mind.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
He replayed it in his head over and over, clinging to the thought like a lifeline.
You know this, he thought fiercely, you always know.
Until sunrise.
The words landed heavier than any blow.
Jason didn’t react right away. He couldn’t afford to. His body wanted to, wanted to tense, to jerk, to give something away but he forced it down, locked it behind his teeth and bone.
Sunrise,
Not a day. Not a night.
An hour or two. Maybe three. Not enough time. Not enough time for a city-wide search. Not enough time for careful planning. Joker knew that. He always did.
Jason’s jaw clenched.
You don’t have that time, his mind supplied coldly. Neither do they.
That was the point. It wasn’t about killing him. It never was, he was bait, he made that clear from the beginning. It was about forcing a choice. Making Bruce run blind. Making Y/n run straight into a trap with her heart leading instead of her head.
Jason’s fingers curled weakly around the chain as the realization settles heavy in his chest.
Don’t come for me, he’d said.
Not because he wanted to die.
Because he didn’t want them broken again.
Joker hummed cheerfully, clearly pleased with himself, circling just out of Jason’s blurred field of vision. “Tick-tock, tick-tock,” he sing-songed. “Time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it, Jason?”
Jason’s jaw clenched. He tasted copper.
Hold it together. You’ve had worse.
Hadn’t he?
Footsteps sloshed.
Jason’s head lifted slightly, vision blurring as something cold splashed over his face and chest.
Water.
Ice-cold.
He gasped despite himself, body jerking violently as it soaked into his clothes, ran down his arms, pooled around his feet. The concrete sucked the heat straight out of him, cold biting deep into his bones.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Joker hummed. “I just thought you might need a freshen up!”
Jason sucked in a sharp breath, teeth chattering now, muscles betraying him. His heart hammered too fast, too loud, every nerve suddenly screaming.
Joker’s shadow fell over him again.
“Now,” he said lightly, almost conversational. “Let’s see if you’re still feeling…electric.”
The first jolt hit like a truck.
Jason’s back arched, a raw, broken sound ripping from his throat before he could stop it. Every muscle seized at once, limbs locking as pain tore through him, sharp and blinding and everywhere all at once.
He couldn’t breathe.
The world collapsed into light and noise.
The second shock came faster, crueler.
His vision fractured, spots bursting across his eyes as his teeth slammed together hard enough to make his skull ring. His wrists burned where the chains bit in, nerves firing wildly as his body fought a battle it couldn’t win.
Don’t black out.
Don’t!
He tried to focus, on Y/n’s laugh, on grease-stained hands and warm summer nights and tapping codes into rusted railings but the pain drowned it all out, relentless and merciless.
Joker laughed, manicly. “Still with me, Jason? You’re quieter than usual.”
The third shock was shorter.
Almost merciful.
Jason’s body went slack as soon as it ended, strength draining out of him all at once. His head fell forward, chin hitting his chest, breath coming in thin, ragged gasps.
He didn’t feel his feet anymore.
Didn’t feel anything but the echo of pain and the terrifying pull of darkness closing in around the edges of his vision.
Stay awake, he begged himself weakly. Just…stay…
Another splash of cold water hit his face, but it barely registered this time.
The world tilted.
Then it slipped.
Jason’s eyes rolled back as his knees finally gave out, body sagging hard against the restraints as unconsciousness took him.
The last thing he heard was Joker’s voice, amused and distant, dripping with sinister care.
“Let’s get you in a more comfortable position, shall we?”
And then there was nothing
++++
The vents shouldn’t have been this cold.
That was Y/n’s first thought as she slid on her stomach through the narrow metal shaft, elbows pulling her forward inch by careful inch. Gotham nights had a bite, sure, but the Wayne Manor ventilation systems felt like it was breathing winter straight through into her bones. Every exhale puffed white in front of her, clouding the narrow space
“Jason is gonna eat his words,” she muttered under her breath.
A screw scraped against her ribs as she moved. She hissed through her teeth and paused, letting the echo settle. Sound traveled in metal like gossip. One clatter too loud and…
Well. Worst case? Bruce Wayne personally throws her off the property.
She smirked, wouldn't be the first billionaire she annoyed.
A faint vibration hummed through the metal beneath her. Not the vent system’s usual rhythm, this was hers. The device strapped to her wrist blinked a pulsing green, looping a falsified feed into the manor’s security network. She’d spent two long weeks and countless curses creating it, for the scrap electronics she could find.
Worth it.
Jason had said, You’re not getting into the manor. Even I can’t without setting off five alarms.
And Y/n had heard what he meant:
Try me.
She never backed down from a challenge, especially one Jason smirked his way through. She followed the vent’s downward slope, carefully lowering herself. Soft light glowed below. And then..
A low thump.
A grunt.
Fists against heavy padding.
Training room.
She was close.
Y/n stopped just before the vent’s final grate, pulling her screwdriver from her boot. She’d studied this grate on the stolen blueprint, only to discover extra screws not listed anywhere.
Someone had upgraded security recently.
She smirked. Cute. Still not enough.
She began unscrewing the grate one bolt at a time, catching them in her palm to keep the noise down. Metal clinked faintly.
And suddenly her wrist device beeped.
Once.
Twice.
A sharp triple tone.
Her stomach dropped.
Motion sensors. East wing. Triggered.
“What? No, no, no” she whispered, tapping the screen.
The override she’d designed looped camera feeds and obscured heat signatures, but the East wing’s sensors must’ve been recently reinstalled. They weren’t connected to the central system yet, meaning her loop didn’t cover them.
Great.
Just great.
Somewhere below, muted footsteps shifted.
“Did you hear that?” a voice murmured. A voice she assumed to be Dick, Jason had talked about him a few times. The golden boy.
Y/n froze, her breath caught in her throat.
Another voice, deep, steady, unmistakable.
Bruce.
“East wing,” Bruce said quietly. “Motion detected.”
A beat.
Then, with the heavy exhaustion of a man too old for this, another voice crackled faintly through a comm line, dry, clipped, thoroughly unimpressed.
“For heaven’s sake… again?”
Y/n clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, Alfred she assumed. Jason had told her only positive things about him.
Alfred continued, tone flat with decades of patience, worn down. “Shall I assume it is yet another ambitious individual attempting to steal Master Bruce’s antique chess set? Or a teenager convinced the manor is haunted again?”
Bruce did not not sound amused. “We’ll check it.”
“Yes,” Alfred sighed, “because that always goes splendidly.”
Y/n whispered to herself. “Sorry, Alfred.”
She didn’t have long. She eased the grate open and slipped through, hanging briefly by her fingertips before dropping onto a support beam high above the mats. The air smelled faintly of sweat, leather, and chalk. Below, Dick attacked a training dummy with a sharp, precise rhythm. Bruce stood beside him, arms folded, expression carved from stone.
Neither of them looked up.
Good.
From here, she could see the entire space, the long mats, the tumbling rigs, the polished floors. Everything neat. Controlled. Designed for discipline.
“Something feels off,” Dick muttered, suddenly striking the dummy again.
Y/n froze.
Bruce lifted his gaze upward, scanning the rafters, the corners, the shadows.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She held her breath, body pressed tight to the beam. After a moment, Bruce looked away.
Dick cracked his neck. “Thought I heard something.”
“Your focus is drifting,” Bruce said. “Again.”
Dick rolled his eyes. “Maybe because it’s midnight, and I’ve been doing this since-”
He stopped.
Y/n’s heart slamming in her ears, Y/n pressed herself flatter, barely breathing.
The grate above her, the one she’d removed at the start, rattled faintly, likely settling in the draft.
Bruce’s head snapped up.
Dick’s eyes followed.
Y/n felt her stomach drop. No point in hiding now. She dropped.
She landed in a low crouch, palms on the mat, body absorbing the impact in a clean controlled roll. Her knee screamed, but she pushed through.
Dick stumbled backwards, eyes wide.
Bruce didn’t move at all.
Y/n raised both hands, half grin tugging at her bruised lip. “Uh…hi.”
Dick blinked. "Who-?"
But the way he froze wasn’t confusion. It was recognition. A flicker, just long enough for Y/n to catch it.
Y/n squinted at him, studying the shape of his jaw, the stance, the way he held tension in his shoulders. Familiar. Stupid familiar. Her brain scrambled through every person who’d ever cornered her in an alley. Every vigilante who’d ever cut her off mid-crime.
Then it hit.
“Oh,” she said slowly, pointing right at him. “You’re Nightwing.”
Dick’s reaction was instant and violently unconvincing.
“I..What…No.” His voice cracked so hard it echoed. “Why would you… why would you think… what…no…I’m not…that’s not.”
Y/n raised a brow. “Dude…you’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?!” he demanded, voice pitching even higher.
Bruce, without looking up, muttered, “Your tell.”
Dick whipped around. “I do not have a tell.”
Bruce just stared at him with the dead-eyed disappointment of a man who has absolutely had this argument before.
Y/n crossed her arms. “You fight the same.”
Dick’s eyes snapped back to her, wide and betrayed. “Fight? What do you mean? No. No. You’re mistaken. I move like a civilian. A completely normal, stable, unremarkable, tax-paxing civilian.
“That couldn't be further from the truth. Especially the stable part, anyone that chooses the vigilante life, is not stable.” Y/n quickly shot back, slightly tilting her head.
Bruce stared at him. “You don’t pay taxes either.”
“Not helping, Bruce!”
Y/n ignored their bickering, pointing straight at Dick. “The night near Bristol,” she said. “The townhouse with the stupid expensive wallpaper.”
Dick went still.
“You were wearing black with a blue symbol,” she continued. “and you flipped my knife like it was a fidget toy.”
Dick sucked in a breath so fast he choked on it.
Bruce’s head tilted with mild interest.
“That wasn’t-” Dick tried, voice strained. “That could have been…anyone.”
“Anyone with escrima sticks who steps out in the shadows like he’s posing for a magazine cover?” Y/n deadpanned.
Dick made a wounded noise. “I do NOT pose.”
Bruce mumbled, under his breath, “You pose.”
“I don’t!”
Y/n kept going. “You cornered me in the study, remember? I was unlocking that wall safe and you said-” her voice slipped into an exaggerated impression, “breaking and entering is a felony, you know.”
Dick paled.
“And then you followed me for half an hour through the rain,” she said, “ talking about Gotham’s moral decay and that I could make better life choices.”
Dick threw his hands up. “It was a conversation, not a lecture.”
“You were annoying,” she added
Dick huffed, the ghost of a laugh slipping through. “You threw a knife at my head.”
“You startled me.”
“You were robbing a house.
“Well,” she said, shrugging lightly, “we all have our hobbies.”
Bruce almost looked like he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose.
Dick cleared his throat. “Still, you shouldn’t assume things.”
“It wasn’t an assumption.”
His brows pulled together. “Oh?”
Bruce’s gaze flickered between them. “She’s observant. Very.”
Y/n shrugged. “I survive by watching people.”
Dick scrubbed a hand through his hair, completely undone. “Okay, hypothetically, hypothetically, if I were Nightwing, which I’m obviously not, how the hell would you recognize me? I wore a mask.”
“You stand the same,” she said simply. “And you tilt your head when you’re studying someone. Same as now.”
Dick froze like a glitch in a video game.
Bruce nodded once, impressed. “Good deduction.”
Dick turned, betrayed. “Could you stop praising her for exposing me?!”
Y/n bit back a laugh. “You should work on your poker face.”
“I’ve an excellent poker face.”
“You’re literally pouting.”
“I am not!”
Bruce’s voice cut through, low and sharp. “Y/n.”
Her smirk faltered. “You… know my face.”
“Jason told me enough.”
Okay. She was going to murder Jason later.
Dick’s eyebrows shot up, a sarcastic smile appeared on his face. “Jason knows girls?”
“I know, right? Such a shocker.” Y/n shot back instinctively.
Bruce’s nostrils flared. “How did you get in here?”
“Oh, you know…” She gestured vaguely upward. “Air ducts. Determination. Mild disregard for property laws.”
Dick looked impressed. “You broke into the Wayne Manor through the vents?”
“And got past the security system,” she corrected proudly.
Bruce’s brow dipped “Impossible. I upgraded that system myself.”
“Yeah,” she said, tapping the device on her wrist. “You should really look into patching the backdoor I found in your north camera network. That thing was an open invitation.”
Dick let out a low whistle. “She’s bold.” Y/n just smirked at him. “You’ve no idea.”
Bruce exhaled slowly, long suffering. “Why are you here?”
She straightened, brushing dust off her pants. “Jason said I couldn’t.”
Dick snorted.
Bruce closed his eyes like he was reconsidering every choice he’d ever made.
Y/n shrugged. “I like proving people wrong.” Dick grinned, stepping forward. “I like her.”
Before Y/n could reply, footsteps thundered down the hall.
Jason burst into the room, slightly out of breath, expression pure horror.
“YOU DIDN’T.”
Y/n smiled.
Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I said the manor was impossible, not that you should-”
“You dared me,” she corrected. “And now you owe me twenty bucks.”
Dick choked on a laugh. Bruce rubbed his temples. Jason pointed to the vents. “You could’ve died!”
She pointed back at the training equipment. “You train here with Bruce. I think I’ll survive.” Y/n said, turning herself to Bruce. “ Sorry, I know. Dumbass here, let it slip that you’re Batman.”
Jason looked like he wanted to dropkick her. Or hug her. Or both.
Instead he shot her a smile. Glad that she got inside safely. Glad that she hasn’t changed a bit, even after not seeing her as often as he would like.
She remembered that smile. God, she remembered it too well. The one that made everything in her stop for a heartbeat.
Warm.
Bright.
Stupidly soft around the edges in a way he didn’t give anyone else. The kind of smile that made her think. just for a second, that things could actually be okay.
And for a moment, the memory held. Whole. Untouched.
The training room still smells faintly of sweat and cologne. Bruce’s quiet disapproval hovered somewhere behind her.
Dick’s laugh bounced off the walls, amused and surprised.
It felt real.
But it never lasted long when Jason was involved.
The moment stretched, too still, too perfect, and something inside her flinched before she even understood why.
The edges of the room blurred first.
Not dramatically, just enough that her brain recognized the pattern before she consciously did.
Because this wasn’t new.
This shift, this slip, this tilting of a memory into something else, it had happened before. Her stomach dropped. Her heartbeat stuttered. Jason’s smile flickered.
Barely.
That was all it took. Her mind filled in the rest, uninvited and merciless. The warmth drained out of the room. The light changed. Colder, harsher. Dick’s laugh vanished. Bruce’s presence dissolved into static.
And Jason.
Jason changed the slowest, which somehow made it worse.The softness around his eyes sharpened. Color bled out of his skin. The curve of his lips collapsed.
She blinked, and the past folded violently into the other past, the one that never stopped replaying whether she wanted it or not.
Blood smeared along his cheek.
His eyes wide with panic.
Breath shaking, too fast, too thin.
The Joker’s video.
The first time she watched him die.
…And the second time.
Because the universe apparently liked patterns.
She’d known this feeling before. The sick, hollow drop in her chest, the sense of falling without moving. The night she’d seen the footage. The night she’d found out he came back. The night she realized he hadn’t really survived at all, not in the ways that mattered.
This, right here, was the second time she lost him.
Her memory of his smile didn’t just fade, no, it shattered under the weight of the image replacing it.
Jason hanging chained from the ceiling
Terrified.
Hurting.
Helpless in a way she had never, ever been able to forgive. And that was the thing that always gutted her. It wasn’t the shock. It wasn’t the horror.It was the familiarity. She’d seen that expression before.
She’d survived it once.
And now, watching the video’s ghost swallow the memory whole, she felt it happen again.
The warmth was gone. The boy she knew was gone. And all she could see, all she could feel, was that broken, desperate face. The face of someone she couldn’t save the first time.
A quiet truth settled in her bones, cold and absolute:
I’m losing him again.
The world didn’t return gently. It slammed back into motion all at once.
The Batcave lights weren’t as harsh as they felt, Y/n knew that, but her pupils constricted painfully anyway, dragging her out of the collapsing memory like she was being yanked out of an icy lake. Her breath caught hard in her chest, sharp and loud, echoing in her own ears until she forced herself to slow it down. In. Out. Again.
The real room came back in pieces.
Barbara’s fingers flying across the keyboard, the soft clacking unnervingly fast. Bruce pacing a tight line behind the main console, shoulders rigid, jaw set like brittle under pressure. Dick murmuring low into a comm, voice steady but clipped tone of someone who hasn't slept and wouldn't any time soon". Tim and Damian’s voices crackling faintly over the speakers, distant but sharp.
Alfred moved quietly between them all with quiet efficiency, offering water no one drank.
And behind it all, constant, inescapable.
The freeze-frame of Jason.
Bound. Bruised. Barely breathing.
Y/n swallowed hard, her throat tight enough that it hurt. For a few seconds she didn’t move at all, afraid that if she did, something in her would come undone in a way she couldn't fix.
Her body felt wrong, too heavy in some places, strangely hollow in others, like part of her had been left behind in her memory.
She forced herself to move anyway. One foot for the other.
She drifted toward the console with a numb, mechanical focus that made Dick glance over almost immediately. He didn’t call out at first. He just watched her, reading the way her shoulders were held too tight, the way her hands curled and uncurled at her sides like she didn’t trust them.
“Y/n?” he called quietly, sensing the shift.
She didn’t answer.
Not because she didn’t hear him, because her throat had closed around words that didn’t exist yet. Thoughts swarmed, overlapping and useless. If she spoke now, she was certain something broken would come out instead.
She stopped beside the console and stared at the screen. Jason’s head lolled forward, chin brushing his chest. One eye was swollen nearly shut. The other stared unfocused at nothing.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. They trembled once, just once, before she clenched them into a fist and forced the shake down through sheer will.
Bruce noticed. Of course he noticed.
He took a half-step toward her, stopped himself. His hands flexed at his sides before curling into fists again. He said nothing. His grief had made him careful around her, like he understood that even comfort could be a trigger right now.
Good. She didn’t want comfort. She wanted clarity.
“Barbara,” Y/n said, her voice hoarse. “Restart the broadcast.”
Barbara’s hands paused over the keys. She looked up, concern flashing across her face.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to watch it again. We already-”
“Just do it,” Y/n said, sharper than she meant to.
Dick shot her a worried look, but nodded to Barbara. “Run it. Slow it down if she asks.” Barbara tapped a few keys. The screen shifted. Static.
Joker’s laugh, distorted.
His pale face filled the lens.
And behind him.
Jason..
The world shrank to the image of him chained from the ceiling, every breath a struggle, every bruise a fresh injury that twisted her insides. His movements were so minimal it hurt to watch. Jason wasn’t still by nature, stillness meant agony.
Y/n dug nails into her palms but didn’t look away. Couldn’t. Her eyes traced every pixel. Every flicker of shadow, every breath that rattled in Jason’s chest. She knew this was the same footage they’d already seen. She knew studying it again wouldn’t reverse time.
Bruce stepped closer, arms crossed but face softer than usual. “What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
Then louder, “Play it at point-five speed.”
Barbara slowed it down. Joker’s motions stretched unnaturally, his laughter crawling through the speakers like something rotten. Jason’s head hung forward, until Joker grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked it up.
Y/n’s heart slammed against her ribs. She forced herself not to break, not to focus on the bruises or the blood in the white stripe of his hair or the way Jason’s legs twitched involuntarily.
Instead, she watched Jason.
Not the pain, not the injuries, but the tiny things.
The things only someone who’d known him as a kid, as a reckless teenager, as the boy who always mouthed off even when he shouldn’t, would notice.
She looked at his hands. By the way the chains had rubbed the skin of his wrists raw. At the way his right fingers tapped against the chain.
Then did it again.
Barely anything. But unmistakably deliberate.
Her pulse jumped.
“Pause it.
Barbara froze the frame. Dick leaned in, brows furrowed. "What? Did you see something?”
Y/n lifted a trembling hand toward the screen. “There. His hand. He’s tapping.”
Bruce’s head snapped toward the screen. “You’re certain?”
“He’s tapping a pattern,” she said. “He used to do that. When he wanted to tell me something without anyone else catching on.” Dick blinked. “What, like Morse code?”
“No,” Y/n said. “Like… Jason code.” Barbara zoomed in, grainy, but clear enough to see the minute jerks of Jason’s fingers.
Tap. Pause. Tap-tap. Long pause. Tap.
Her stomach dropped. “He’s spelling something,” she whispered. “But…it’s too fast. And he’s weak. The letters are muddled.” Dick’s jaw clenched. “But he’s trying.”
“He always tries,” Y/n whispered back.
Hours blurred.
The cave thrummered with coordinated urgency. Bruce stalked between computer stations. Dick deployed drones through half of the city. Tim and Damian swept rooftops on the opposite side of Gotham. Barbara sifted archives, city grids, old hideouts.
And Y/n watched.
The video. Over. And over. And over again.
Her eyes burned. Her head throbbed. Her chest felt carved out.
Dick came up behind her at some point. “You keep this up and you’re going to pass out.”
“I can’t stop,” she muttered. “We don’t have that time and neither does he.”
“Y/n,” he said softly, “why are you torturing yourself?”
“Because he’s talking to me.”
Dick froze.
“He wouldn’t tap unless it meant something,” she said, voice shaking. “He never tapped wrong. He never did it by accident.”
Barbara and Bruce exchanged a glance, one part uncertainty, one part dawning consideration. “So,” Dick said carefully, “this is your…code?”
“Yes,” Y/n whispered. “Ours.”
She hadn’t thought about that night in years.
Not clearly.
Not like this.
But exhaustion had a way of loosening memories and right now they slipped free like dust shaken off old shelves.
The memory dissolved like smoke.
Y/n blinked hard, the dim orange rooftop fading into the cold blue glow of the Batcave. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she stared at Jason’s barely-moving hand on the frozen screen.
Barbara slowly rewound the frame and played it again, frame for frame, each twitch magnified. Y/n leaned forward until her breath fogged the edge of the monitor.
“He’s trying to stay with the code,” she murmured, “but he’s too weak to keep the rhythm clean.”
Dick hovered behind her shoulder. “Meaning…what exactly?”
“It means that I need to figure out what he’s trying to do, not what he’s actually managing.”
She pressed a hand to her forehead. It was overheating. Or maybe she was. Her pulse thrummed with something between hope and dread.
“Look here.” She pointed. “That first tap? It could be single. Or it could be the first part of a double tap that he couldn’t finish.”
Bruce stepped closer, silent, watching every mirco-movement on the screen.
“And the pause?” Dick asked. Y/n shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s deliberate or if he’s…passing out for half a second between taps.”
Barbara frowned. “So we don’t even know how many taps he intended.”
“Exactly,” Y/n whispered. “He could be saying ‘left’. Or ‘right’
Her voice cracked. “Or he’s trying to say all of them but can’t get his body to cooperate.
It was hell. Watching him give everything he had left just to move a few fingers. Y/n leaned closer, studying the tremors in his hand, the tension in his tendons, the rhythm, broken but familiar.
“He’s not following the pattern exactly,” she murmured. “He’s modifying it.” Bruce titled his head. “Modifying how?”
“Back then,” she said slowly, “our code relied on clean beats. Clean pauses. That’s impossible for him right now. So he’s compensating.”
She swallowed hard.
Dick exhaled shakily. “Can you read it?” Y/n’s eyes stung. “I’m trying.”
Her gaze dragged across the screen again. Tap. Pause. Tap-tap. Long pause. Tap
“He’s mixing signals,” she whispered. “Not random, just messy. Like he’s trying to say three or four things at once, hoping one of them lands.”
“And what do you think he’s trying to say?” Barbara asked gently.
Y/n’s throat worked.
“I don’t know what he’s saying yet,” she admitted, “but I know what he’s trying to do.”
She pressed her fingertips lightly against the glass, tracing the tremor of his fingers.
“He’s talking to me,” she whispered. “Even now. Even like this.” She exhaled.
“Now I just need to figure out how many taps there really were. If that first one was single or double. If that pause was meant or if he blacked out. If the last tap is full stop or the start of another sequence he couldn’t finish.”
Her fingers curled against the console.
“He’s trying to tell me something. A place. A warning. A direction. Something.”
Y/n swallowed hard, eyes glued to Jason’s trembling hand.
“I just need to know what.”
She rewound.
Play.
Rewind.
Play.
Her eyes narrowed.
“One tap…or two.”
“Fast…or staggered.”
“A pause…or a slip.”
Her breath shuddered. Y/n stared at the screen, her vision narrowing until the edges of the Batcave disappeared. The only thing that existed was Jason’s hand, struggling, twitching, the faintest flex of fingers against the chains.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
The sequence repeated, each tap like a lifeline thrown across the void between her and him. She played it over and over, frame by frame, adjusting the speed until the movements were almost imperceptible, ghost like.
Her mind reached, grasped at the fragments, and tried to assemble them.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
It wasn’t perfect. His wrist trembled. His fingers shook with fatigue. The timing staggered slightly. But it was deliberate. Every twitch was intentional, every pause had meaning.
Y/n’s nails dug into her palms as she repeated the sequence out loud, whispering the taps, whispering the rhythm, trying to match it. Then it felt like a rope was strapped around her neck and yanked her back into her mind.
He tapped a short sequence. Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
Y/n’s leaned against the railing, sweating under the summer heat, listening to the city beneath them.
“Okay,” she said softly, eyes narrowing, fingers itching to tap back. “That could mean anything.”
Jason shrugged, half-grinning, half-serious. “Maybe. Maybe not. But someday, you’ll get it. You’ll know exactly what I mean without me telling you. That’s the point.”
She laughed quietly, a little sharp, a little nervous. “That’s cryptic, even for you.”
He leaned closer, voice low, almost a whisper. “Here. It means here. You know…right here with me. Not anywhere else.”
Y/n froze, heart catching in her chest. That one phrase. Simple, ridiculous, ordinary. And yet it was anything but ordinary.
“Right here,” she whispered under her breath, tracing the imaginary motion of his fingers in the air. “He meant right here with me.”
Her mind tumbled through possibilities. Places. Rooftops. Alleys. Anywhere they had been together. Anywhere that mattered. Anywhere he might want to anchor her to, even in a moment of terror like this.
She shook her head slightly, still fixated on the screen. Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. The rhythm was alive, insistent. Personal.
Barbara’s voice cut softly through the tension. “Y/n, what do you think he meant with here?”
Y/n didn’t look up. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I…I don’t know. Not entirely.” She swallowed, trying to calm the tremor in her chest, her sides starting to ache more and more. “But I’m convinced that’s what he meant. He’s trying to tell me something. Something only I would understand.”
Dick leaned closer, brushing her shoulder lightly. “So, any of ‘here’ would work? Like, any place that matters to both of you?”
Y/n shook her head slowly, but with certainty. “Yes and no. Some places matter more than others. Not all of them. He picked this one carefully. He wouldn't just tap it for anywhere.”
Bruce’s hands pressed into his face for a moment before he looked back up. “Then we need a list. Every place significant to the two of you. Every location that could possibly be…” He didn’t finish, but the implication was clear.
Barbara pulled up a city map on one of the secondary screens. She marked rooftops, alleys, abandoned warehouses, a few hideouts that had been Jason’s unofficial haunts over the years.
Time didn’t stop.
That was the cruelest part.
It kept moving, indifferent, sliding forward in quiet increments while they tore the city apart.
Minutes bled away in the Batcave, marked only by the steady appearance of red X’s and yellow flags blooming across Gotham’s map. Each one represented a location checked. Each one meant nothing.
Y/n stood rooted near the main console, shoulders tight, arms crossed over her chest, eyes burning from staring too long at too many screens. She could feel the dull ache in her ribs, sharp reminders every time she shifted her weight. Her shoulder throbbed faintly under the strain of holding herself upright, and the small cut along her cheek started itching as it dried and cracked. Every step, every lean, every movement reminded her she was broken.
She ignored it. She had to. It didn’t matter. Not right now. Not while Jason was alive, or trying to be.
The cave hummed around her, servers, monitors, distant machinery, a low, relentless pulse that made it impossible to forget that time was still passing.
Outside, somewhere far above them, the sky was changing.
It was subtle. Almost imperceptible. But Y/n felt it anyway, that quiet pressure shift in the air that came before dawn. The night was thinning.
Sunrise was coming.
Tim’s voice crackled through the comms, sharp and strained. “Warehouse district cleared. Nothing. No residual power strikes. No structural matches.”
“South docks are clean,” Dick reported seconds later, voice controlled but tight around the edges. “Too open. No enclosed ceiling supports strong enough for that chain rig.”
Damian cut in, irritation barely masking the worry underneath. “Abandoned subway spur is a dead end. No signs of recent activity.”
One by one, hope collapsed in on itself.
Y/n shifted slightly, ignoring the sharp stabs through her ribs. Her shoulder caught on the console’s edge, a flare of pain shooting down her arm, but she gritted her teeth and pressed forward. She couldn’t let anyone see how much it hurt.
Bruce stood behind the main console, hands braced against the metal edge, shoulders squared in a way Y/n recognized all too well. It wasn’t readiness. It was restraint. The kind that came from knowing exactly how much force you could unleash, and knowing that using it blindly would cost you everything.
Barbara’s fingers never stopped moving. She rerouted feeds, overlaid city schematics, pulled up old infrastructure reports. Her jaw was set, lips pressed thin, eyes flicking between data streams faster than most people could read.
“Nothing fits cleanly," she said quietly. “Joker’s hiding somewhere old. Somewhere forgotten.”
Forgotten.
Y/n swallowed hard, the movement twisted her ribs in protest. She pressed a hand to her side, holding herself still. She couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe in her panic. Not yet.
Her gaze drifted back to the paused footage on the central screen. Not Jason’s face, she couldn’t look at that again. Not right now. Instead, her eyes slid downward.
That dirty, concrete floor.
Her breath caught so sharply it hurt. The ache in her shoulders flared. She clenched her fist to hold it down.
Something about the floor tugged at her, insistent and wrong. Not the blood, Gotham had taught her that blood alone didn’t narrow anything down. It was the texture. The way the light caught unevenly across the surface. The shallow dip near where his toes scraped. The patchiness along one section that someone had obviously tried to hide.
“Barbara,” she said, voice sharp, though shaking from exhaustion and pain. “Zoom in. On the floor. Brighten it. Enhance texture.”
Barbara didn’t question it.
The image sharpened, pixels rearranging themselves into something clearer, harsher.
Cracks spiderwebbed through the concrete. Dark stains ground deep into the surface, old and layered, not fresh enough to belong to the moment alone. Rust flakes scattered unevenly, some pressed flat, others jagged and curled.
Then Y/n saw it.
A thin, raised seam, jagged and imperfect, running diagonally across the concrete like a scar.
They had tried to cover it. Someone, in a last attempt had poured fresh concrete over an old drain, to hide the floor’s true identity. Too thin in places. The surface mismatched slightly in color and texture. It wasn’t enough to fool anyone careful, anyone who knew the space intimately.
Y/n leaned closer, ignoring the stabbing pain in her ribs as she bent over the console. Her shoulder jabbed again. Her cheek stung. Her body protested in every way. But she didn’t care. Her eyes traced the seam, the slight offset in the patch. Recognition slammed into her.
“This floor,” she breathed. “They tried to cover the drain. Look at the seams, see how uneven it is? It’s intentional.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “‘Industrial.”
“Small,” she said. “Not a warehouse. Not a factory. Too low. Too cramped.”
Dick leaned in, following her line of sight. “Auto shop.”
Her breath shuddered.
“Yes.”
Memory flooded in whether she wanted it to or not, fragments layered over the present. That uneven drain, she tripped over and swore she would kill Jason if he told anyone. Jason’s laugh echoing off the metal walls. Grease-stained hands tapping against a rusted railing.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
Her voice dropped, rough with emotion. “He didn’t just want me to understand him. He wanted me to remember.”
Bruce straightened, something fierce and careful burning behind his eyes. “Where?”
“The abandoned auto shop on 9th,” Y/n said. “The one near the junkyard. Where we used to strip parts. Where he first taught me the taps.” Her throat worked. Her ribs burned with every swallow. “That’s where this started.”
Silence fell for half a second.
Then Bruce moved.
“Oracle,” he said sharply. “Cross-refrence abandoned auto shops within the industrial sector. Structural match priority. Ceiling beams capable of bearing weight.”
Barbara was already typing, screen shifting. “On it.”
Dick exhaled slowly, something sharp and hopeful cutting through the exhaustion. “He didn’t just want to calm us down,” he said. "He trusted you with his life.”
Y/n nodded, slightly taken back by the words Dick just spoke. He did trust her with his life and she owes him to keep him safe. He knew she’d look for him. And he knew she’d know the difference.
Outside, dawn crept closer.
But for the first time since the broadcast began, here finally meant something they could run toward.
Jason woke up to the wrong kind of touch.
Not hands.
Not warmth.
Something cold and familiar dragging along his cheek.
His breath stutters before he could even open his eyes. His body reacted faster than his mind, muscles tried to tense, to pull away, and immediately. Pain.
It crashed through him like a wave breaking against rocks. His spine locked. His shoulders screamed. His ribs flared hot and sharp, like something inside them shifted the wrong way. A sound rips out of his throat, rough and broken before he could stop it.
He gasped and his eyes flew open.
Green.
That’s the first thing he saw. Sickly, too bright, hovering just inches from his face.
“Well, there he is,” Joker croons, voice lilting with false affection. “I thought you were going to sleep through the whole encore. And where is the fun in that?”
Jason’s visions swim. The room titled nauseatingly, light and shadow blurring together before slowly, painfully settling. He tried to focus on the Joker’s face, but it took effort, like his eyes don’t quite want to cooperate.
The cold thing stroked his cheek again.
Metal.
A crowbar.
Joker dragged it down the side of Jason’s face with a mocking tenderness, the rounded edge traced over swollen skin, dried blood cracking slightly with the pressure.
Jason sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. His jaw trembled, anger flaring hot and instinctive, but his body felt wrong. Heavy, sluggish. Like it’s been rearranged without his permission.
Jason tried to move.
Tried being the operative word.
His body refused.
Something dug viciously into his chest when he shifted, biting down hard enough that his breath punched out of him in a strained, broken sound. His arms don’t budge. His legs twitched uselessly, feet scraping weakly against the concrete floor underneath him.
The realization hit him in fragments, assembling themselves slowly through the haze.
He’s sitting.
Not slumped. Not hanging.
Sitting upright and it’s wrong.
His heart rate spiked. He looked down as much as he could, neck stiff and screaming in protest.
That’s when he sees it.
The chair.
Heavy and industrial. Bolted straight into the floor, metal arms and reinforced legs. The kind of thing that doesn’t tip, doesn’t slide, doesn’t move unless whoever built it wanted it to.
And wrapped around him, barbed wire.
It coiled around his torso, biting into his ribs, crossing his chest in jagged lines. It dug into his shoulders, his arms, his thighs. Every sharp twist presses barbs into skin already bruised and torn, embedding themselves just enough that any movement is punished immediately.
Blood dots the wire in dark, sticky beads.
Jason goes very still.
“Ah-oh,” Joker laughed softly, delighted. “You noticed.”
Jason lifted his head slowly, every motion calculated now. His breathing is shallow, careful. Each inhale pulls at his ribs in a way that makes stars spark behind his eyes.
“You know,” Joker continued, leaning casually on the crowbar, “you really ruined the chair the first time.”
Jason’s fingers twitched. The barbs bit down harder, sharp enough that he hissed despite himself.
“Very nostalgic,” Joker continued. “I thought it might jog your memory. You always did like revisiting your greatest hits.”
“Go…to hell,” Jason rasped.
Joker beams. “Already booked a return trip.”
Without warning, the crowbar swung.
It strikes Jason’s shoulder.
The pain is immediate and catastrophic. His vision whites out. A scream tears from hm before he can stop it, raw and animal, his body jerking violently as the wire digs in, tearing skin, ripping breath from his lungs.
Joker laughed, loud and pleased.
“Oh,” he said. “Did that hurt?”
Another hit followed immediately.
This one caught his ribs.
Something cracked. Jason didn’t know if it was bone or just the illusion of it, but the pain was blinding, absolute. He gagged, vision going dark at the edge as his body convulsed against restraints refusing to give in.
The barbed wire shifted.
Bit deeper.
Joker hummed thoughtfully. “You know, I debated starting slowly. Really build the anticipation. But honestly?” He shrugged. “You look like you could use a warm-up.”
The crowbar struck again.
And again.
Not rhythmic. Not predictable. Joker varied the timing just enough to keep Jason from bracing, from preparing, from controlling the pain. Shoulder. Side. Thigh. Anywhere that would hurt but not end it.
Jason’s world narrowed to impact, breath and desperate effort to not scream, he couldn't give him that joy.
He bit down hard, tasting blood.
Joker leaned in closer between blows, voice almost gentle. “They aren’t coming, you know.”
Jason spat. It barely made it past his lips.
That earned him another strike, the one snapping his head sideways. Stars burst behind his eyes, his neck screaming in protest as the chair rattled beneath him.
“Ah-ah,” Joker chided. “Bad manners.”
Jason’s breathing broke apart, ragged and uneven. His body shook uncontrollably now, adrenaline burning through him even as strength drained away. Every nerve felt betrayed. Every muscle screamed to either fight or collapse, and he couldn’t do either.
“You really should stop hoping,” Joker continued, pacing lazily now, crowbar tapping against his palm. “Hope’s such a fragile little thing. Breaks so easily.”
The crowbar slammed into his knee.
Jason screamed.
There was no stopping it this time. The sound tore out of him raw and broken as his leg jerked uselessly, wire biting deep enough that he felt it tear. His vision swam, nausea rolling hard through his gut.
Joker straightened, satisfied. “Ah, it’s like music to my ears.”
Jason sagged forward as much as the restraints allowed, breath shuddering. His head hung for a second before Joker grabbed his chin, forcing his face up.
“You remember the last time?” Joker asked softly. “How long you waited?
Jason’s eyes burned.
“I remember how quiet it got,” he said fondly. “How you kept looking at the door, like somebody would come for you.”
The crowbar pressed against his chest, right over his heart.
“They looked,” Joker said. “Oh, they looked. Ran around. Made a mess. All very dramatic.”
He leans in again, face inches from Jason’s. “And they couldn’t find you.”
Jason’s breath hitches despite himself.
“Funny how that works,” Joker whispered. “You can scream and bleed and fight all you want, but if no one knows where to look…”
“Such a shame,” Joker whispered.
Then he hit him again.
Jason lost track of how many times after that.
Pain blurred together, each strike bleeding into the next until there was no clean beginning or end, just a constant, crushing assault that wore him down piece by piece. His body stopped trying to anticipate. Stopped trying to resist. It just absorbed.
Joker finally stepped back, breathing a little harder himself.
“Perfect,” he said cheerfully. “You’ll look amazing when the time comes.”
He glanced at the far wall, where faint light leaked through cracked boards. Morning, maybe. Or just another trick of time.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Joker added, already turning away. “I got a show to set up.”
His footsteps receded, laughter trailing behind him, leaving Jason alone with the aftermath.
The silence hurt worse than the noise.
Jason sagged in the chair, head lolling forward, body shaking with the aftershock. Every breath scraped. Every heartbeat echoed too loud in his ears. His thoughts came apart, slipping through his grasp no matter how hard he tried to hold on.
They’re not coming, a voice whispered.
His own.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Don’t.
The darkness pressed close, heavy and seductive. It would be so easy to let it take him. To stop fighting. To stop feeling
They don’t care about you.
As his mind tried to convince him that all hope is lost, he heard something it the distance.
Tap-tap.
Jason froze. Barely a sound, so faint he almost missed it.
Tap.
No. His heart pounding harder, panic spiking sharp and sudden. Hallucinations. Shock. That’s what it had to be, I finally lost it, he thought.
Tap-tap.
Tap.
His chest tightened, breath shuddering as hope crept in despite himself, fragile and terrifying. He shook his head weakly, a broken denial.
Not now. Not like this.
But the tapping came again, clearer this time.
Tap-tap.
Pause.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Tap.
Jason swallowed hard, eyes burning.
“...Y/n?” he whispered, barely sound at all.
Relief crashed into him so hard it hurt. Confusion followed close behind, fear tangling with it, because what if his mind is just itching for comfort as it unraveled?
Then once again the tapping started, like it was trying to convince him it was really there.
Steady. Unmistakable.
Their rhythm.
Not rushed. Not sloppy.
A broken laugh tears out of him, half sob, half disbelief. His eyes burn fiercely, vision blurring as emotion crashes though the numbness he’d wrapped himself in .
She’s here.
AAAH! The sweet boy.
I'm going to start uploading shorter stories between main story updates, so that you all are fed. Do you have a prompt or request? Let me know and I'll see what I can do! Let me know who, what and what genre you want it. Smut is allowed
Do you want to be on the taglist for any know updates? Let me know and you will be added 🩷
Or do you have a request or a question ? Always welcome
Or do you wanna show love or wanna beat me up for playing with your emotions? You know what button to hit 🤭😌
Taglist: @po0ki3 @thesleepiestpilot @powder-fell-down-a-well @keeperofhearts1 @f1wh0recom
More than a headcount
Pairing: The Batfamily x Y/n x Justice League
Ao3: Fear is a language
Divider by: @/uzmacchiato
Full rights to the people how make the fanarts
Word count: 2.2k
Masterlist
Ao3
Warnings: feeling
Note: Hello everyone! Request from @powder-fell-down-a-well. I hope you like it! I'm also working on the other requests! Are you one of them? Just know it's in the oven. Do you have a request? Look on my masterlist for the rules and send me one!
Your likes, reposts and/or comments are very much appericated.
The batcave was in its usual state of controlled chaos.
Armor plates clicked into place. Utility belts were checked, rechecked, then checked again, because someone, Jason, didn’t trust the first two times. The giant monitors glowed softly, casting blue light over black suits and familiar silhouettes.
Bruce stood near the Batcomputer, arms folded, already in full Batsuit except the mask. He looked like a man preparing for battle. Which, technically, he was.
“Why do we have to wear full gear?” Steph asked, tugging at her gloves. “It’s a meet-and-greet, not a hostage negotiation.”
“Justice League headquarters is still a secure location,” Bruce replied automatically. “Protocols matter.”
Jason snorted. “Yeah, because if Superman turns evil again, we’ll be glad we brought grappling hooks.”
“Statistically,” Tim said without looking up his gauntlet, “it’s not impossible.”
Bruce sighed. “Tim.”
Cass stood beside Y/n, adjusting a strap on her own suit with quiet precision. She glanced over, offering a small, reassuring nod. Y/n returned it, grateful. Y/n was already suited up too, snug and familiar. Everything about it felt right. Comfortable. Except for the feeling in her chest.
The Batcave buzzed with easy familiarity. Dick joking with Duke near the stairs. Damian standing too straight, clearly trying to look unimpressed by everything. Jason leaning against a crate like he owned the place. Steph spun a batarang between her fingers until Bruce shot her a look.
Y/n hovered on the edge of it all.
She laughed when Dick said something dumb. She responded when Duke asked her if their comms were synced up. Jason threw her a casual,”You ready?” and she nodded.
But the thought wouldn’t leave.
Did he mean me too?
Bruce cleared his throat. “Alright. We’re on schedule. Let’s move.” Everyone shifted immediately, muscle memory,training. They headed for the exit platform in a loose group, boots echoing against metal. Y/n slowed just a fraction, watching them go ahead of her.
No one told her to stay. No one told her to follow either.
She stopped.
The platform rose anyway, lifting the others toward the exit tunnel. Y/n stood alone beneath the towering cave ceiling, the quiet settling in around her like fog.
He said it was a family thing.
She swallowed. Maybe she’d assumed too much. Y/n turned away, stepping back toward the shadows, already reaching the take of her mask.
“Hold it.”
The platform stopped with a hydraulic hiss.
Bruce’s voice. He turned, scanning the group quickly. One head. Two. Three. His eyes narrowed.
“...Where’s Y/n?”
There was a beat of silence.
Dick blinked. “Wasn’t she with us?” Jason frowned. “She was geared up.” Tim glanced back down the platform. “She didn’t get on.”
Bruce didn’t hesitate, he stepped off the platform and strode back into the cave.
Y/n was halfway to the workbench when she heard footsteps. She turned. Bruce stood there, mask still off, his expression confused more than anything else.
.
“Why aren’t you coming?” he asked.
Her stomach twisted.
“Oh,” she said softly, lowering her head. “Uh…I thought-” she hesitated, then forced the words out. “You said this was a family thing. I just…wasn’t sure if that included me.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Bruce stared at her like she’d just said the cave was on fire and he’d somehow missed it.
“What?”
She shifted her weight, suddenly very aware of how alone she sounded. “I mean, I help, and I’m here a lot, but I’m not-” She gestured vaguely. “I didn’t want to assume.”
Bruce’s shoulders dropped. Just a little.
“Y/n,” he said, voice gentler than it had been all morning, “why wouldn’t it include you?”
She looked up, confused. “Because I’m not family.”
Bruce didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t lecture. He simply shook his head.
“Yes,” he said firmly, “you are.”
She froze. “You fight with us. You train with us. You worry about them,” he continued, glancing briefly toward where the others waited. “You worry about me. You belong here.”
Her throat tightened. “If that doesn’t make family,” Bruce added, “then I don’t know what does.”
He held out his hand.
“Now come on, I’m not recounting everyone again.”
For a second, she couldn’t move. Then she took his hand, following him back to the platform.
+
The watchtower was…a lot.
Even for people who lived in a cave with dinosaur and a sentient computer.
The teleportation pad disengaged with a soft hum, light fading as the Batfamily materialized in a clean, open chamber. Massive windows curved overhead, revealing the slow, endless sprawl of space. Earth hung in the distance, blue, quiet, impossibly fragile.
Y/n froze for half a heartbeat.
“Okay,” Steph muttered. “I don’t care how many times we come here. This is still unfairly cool.”
“Try not to touch anything,” Bruce said automatically, already regretting taking them with him.
Jason leaned towards Y/n. “Bet you ten bucks Damian says something insulting within thirty seconds.”
Damian scoffed. “I do not make insulting observations. I make accurate ones.”
Duke snorted.
Before the argument could escalate, a familiar, warm voice cut through the room.
“Bruce.”
Superman approached from the far end of the chamber, already smiling like this was the highlight of his day. He was in his suit, The suit, cape draped easily over his shoulders, posture relaxed.
Beside him walked Wonder Woman.
Y/n’s breath caught. She’d seen pictures, footage, news clips. That didn’t prepare her for the presence.
Wonder Woman moved with quiet confidence, dark hair moved in the wind like she was in a shampoo commercial, armor gleaming softly under the Watchtower lights. Her gaze was sharp but kind, taking in every detail of the group without making anyone feel inspected.
“Welcome,” Diana said warmly. Her eyes flickered briefly to Y/n, lingering for just a second longer than the others. Not judging. Not curious. Recognizing.
Bruce inclined his head. “Clark. Diana.”
Clark grinned wider. “Looks like the whole crew this time.”
"Unfortunately,” Jason muttered.
“Arthur couldn’t attend. Something along the lines of ocean business,” Bruce added, deadpan.
Flash zipped past the group in a blur of red and yellow, returning to hover casually with a grin. “He still says hi.”
Cyborg walked over with a subtle hum, arms panels flickering. “Good to see you all intact. And Bruce, I upgraded the pads like you asked. Faster transition, fewer glitches.”
Y/n blinked, technology and superheroes everywhere. She could feel her knees tighten slightly, heart trying to negotiate between excitement and nerves.
“That must be Y/n,” Clark said suddenly, turning his attention fully to her. Her spine straightened on instinct. “Uh,hi. Yes. That’s me.”
“She heard a lot about you,” Jason said teasingly. “Mostly good. Some exaggerated.”
Dick elbowed him. “I never exaggerate.”
Diana stepped closer, offering her hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
Y/n shook it carefully, half-expecting…something. Strength, power or maybe judgment?
Instead, Diana’s grip was steady and warm.
“You fight alongside them. That tells me more than any report.”
Y/n’s cheek warmed. “I try.”
Bruce cleared his throat. “This is a briefing visit. Short.” Clark raised an eyebrow. “You say that every time.”
They moved into the main conference area, the long table already set with holographic displays. The Batkids spread out like they owned the place, claiming seats like it was their living room. Y/n lingered near the end of the table, unsure, until Cass nudged her gently toward an empty chair.
As the briefing began, something about interdimensional monitoring, intelligence sharing, and threats of an unspecified cosmic nature. Y/n found herself half-listening, half-observing.
Clark leaned casually against the table, cape pooled at his feet, listening intently whenever Bruce spoke. Diana’s attention shifted constantly, tracking micro-expressions, tension, body language. Flash fidgeted, leaning on one leg, thumbs twirling, and Cyborg’s interface glowed softly as he absorbed every data point.
Bruce, tired but always precise, noticed Y/n’s subtle stiffness, the way she hovered at the edge of participation, hands fidgeting with her gloves, eyes scanning instead of resting.
“You seem uncertain,” he said quietly, voice low enough for her only to hear.
Y/n blinked. “I…I don’t know if I should-”
“Your thoughts are welcome,” Bruce said simply. “Tell me how you’d handle a containment mission if this group needed one.”
Her breath hitched. All eyes weren’t on her, but she felt the subtle pull, the gravity of attention. “Uh, well,” she started, voice shaking just slightly. “I’d first assess the perimeter, check for environmental risks, and make sure all team members have clear extraction paths. I’d assign cover to anyone monitoring for hostile activity while the primary objective is secured. If anyone’s compromised, I’d create a decoy to draw them out. And if things escalate… I’d rely on the team, I know their strengths and weaknesses, so I’d adapt on the fly.”
There was a pause. Even Jason was quiet.
Diana raised an eyebrow, impressed. “A clear, strategic mind. I see why they trust you.”
Clark nodded, a little grin tugging at his lips. “Exactly the kind of thinking that keeps people alive. Very impressive.”
Barry leaned forward, thumbs twirling. “Dude. That’s really solid. You’re basically a tactical calculator with style.”
Victor hummed. “Yeah, that’s an actual tactical evaluation that’s better than some contingency protocols I’ve seen.”
Y/n’s cheeks burned, she ducked her gaze at the table.
Bruce’s expression softened slightly, a rare flicker of pride passing behind his otherwise unreadable expression.
The briefing wrapped without ceremony.
Bruce shut down the holographic display with a practical flick of the wrist. “That’s all for now. We’ll coordinate follow-up through secure channels.”
Clark smiled. “You know you’re welcome to stay a bit. No emergencies for at least…,” he glanced toward Barry, “Five minutes?”
Barry snapped his fingers. “Hey! That’s a record!”
Bruce briefly hesitated, then surprisingly nodded. “Five minutes.”
The Batkids reacted like he’d just given them recess. Dick immediately hopped up onto the edge of the table. “Okay,” he said brightly, turning to Barry, “Barry. Question.”
Barry appeared beside him in a blur. “Already invested.”
“Hypothetically,” Dick continued, lowering his voice like this was extremely serious business, “if we race around the Watchtower in opposite directions, would we meet in the middle or phase through each other?”
Barry’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god. I’ve been wondering that for years.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “No.” Victor crossed his arms. "Absolutely not. That sounds like a structural nightmare.”
Dick and Barry looked at each other. “...But just hypothetically,” Barry said. “Pure theoretical,” Dick agreed.
Jason leaned back in his chair. “Ten bucks says they ignore everyone and try it anyway.
Steph was already pulling out her phone. “I’m recording."
Cass wandered towards the window, staring out at Earth in silence. Damian joined her, arms folded, posture stiff but eyes wide despite himself.
Y/n stayed where she was for a moment, then found herself drifting closer to the group without really thinking about it. The tension she’d been carrying since the Batcave had loosened, replaced by something warmer, lighter.
She leaned against the table near Clark as Barry zipped back to his spot, vibrating with barely-contained energy.
“So,” Barry said, grinning at her, “what’s like working with that many brooding types?” Y/n snorted before she could stop herself. “Loud, surprisingly loud.”
Jason pointed at her. “See? She gets it.” Clark laughed softly, the sound easy and genuine. Y/n glanced at him, really looked this time. The suit. The cape. The way he somehow made standing in space the most normal thing there is, but then again he is an alien. A thought had been poking at her brain for a while now.
“Hey,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Can I ask something?”
“Sure.”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “Your disguise. As…you know. Clark Kent.”
Barry perked up. “Oh, this is my favorite topic.”
Clark smiled. “What about it?”
Y/n gestured vaguely towards his face. “The glasses. The posture. The whole thing. Does it really work that well?”
Clark chuckled. “It’s not just the glasses. It’s how I carry myself. Different cadence, different body language. People see what they want to see.”
She considered that, brow furrowing. “But you never…accidentally take them off?” She asked. “Like under stress? Or when you’re exhausted? Do you get tired? Anyway or when you rub your face and forget?”
Jason muttered. “Yeah, I’d blow that in five minutes.”
Clark laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve come close. A few times.”
Y/n’s eyes widened. “And?”
“And most people don’t notice,” he said simply. “Theyn rationalize it away. ‘Oh, he looks kind of like Superman,’ and then they laugh at themselves for thinking something so ridiculous.”
Barry grinned. “Humans are wild like that.”
Y/n huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “So you’re telling me the world’s greatest secret is held together by glasses and posture?”
She leaned back against the table, arms crossed loosely. “That’s…both impressive and terrifying.”
Bruce watched the exchange from a short distance away, arms folded, posture weary but relaxed. His gaze lingered on Y/n for a second longer than the rest, and noticed the way she laughed freely now, shoulders no longer tight, standing among them like she’d always been there.
He looked tired but content.
For five quiet minutes, in a room full of gods and vigilantes and too many children who refused to sit still, things felt…normal.
And that, somehow, was the rarest thing of all.
Do you want to be on the taglist for any know updates? Let me know and you will be added 🩷
Or do you have a request or a question ? Look that the rules on my masterlist, how to request 🩷
Or do you wanna show love or wanna beat me up for playing with your emotions? You know what button to hit 🤭😌
Taglist: @po0ki3 @thesleepiestpilot @powder-fell-down-a-well
AHH so wholesome it made me cry. This is why found family is my favourite trope...my amazing friend wrote this for me
That’s me
Could you please do a story thats fluff involving y/n and the bat kids meeting the justice league (or if not all of them at least superman and wonder woman). And dont forget to make Bruce a tired dad, but a good dad 😂. Tytyty. I know you'll do awesome
Of course I can, Here you go! I hope you like it!! One of the kindest thing I've wrote in a bit.
More than a headcount
Pairing: The Batfamily x Y/n x Justice League
Divider by: @/uzmacchiato
Full rights to the people how make the fanarts
Word count: 2.2k
Masterlist
Ao3
Warnings: feeling
Note: Hello everyone! Request from @powder-fell-down-a-well. I hope you like it! I'm also working on the other requests! Are you one of them? Just know it's in the oven. Do you have a request? Look on my masterlist for the rules and send me one!
Your likes, reposts and/or comments are very much appericated.
The batcave was in its usual state of controlled chaos.
Armor plates clicked into place. Utility belts were checked, rechecked, then checked again, because someone, Jason, didn’t trust the first two times. The giant monitors glowed softly, casting blue light over black suits and familiar silhouettes.
Bruce stood near the Batcomputer, arms folded, already in full Batsuit except the mask. He looked like a man preparing for battle. Which, technically, he was.
“Why do we have to wear full gear?” Steph asked, tugging at her gloves. “It’s a meet-and-greet, not a hostage negotiation.”
“Justice League headquarters is still a secure location,” Bruce replied automatically. “Protocols matter.”
Jason snorted. “Yeah, because if Superman turns evil again, we’ll be glad we brought grappling hooks.”
“Statistically,” Tim said without looking up his gauntlet, “it’s not impossible.”
Bruce sighed. “Tim.”
Cass stood beside Y/n, adjusting a strap on her own suit with quiet precision. She glanced over, offering a small, reassuring nod. Y/n returned it, grateful. Y/n was already suited up too, snug and familiar. Everything about it felt right. Comfortable. Except for the feeling in her chest.
The Batcave buzzed with easy familiarity. Dick joking with Duke near the stairs. Damian standing too straight, clearly trying to look unimpressed by everything. Jason leaning against a crate like he owned the place. Steph spun a batarang between her fingers until Bruce shot her a look.
Y/n hovered on the edge of it all.
She laughed when Dick said something dumb. She responded when Duke asked her if their comms were synced up. Jason threw her a casual,”You ready?” and she nodded.
But the thought wouldn’t leave.
Did he mean me too?
Bruce cleared his throat. “Alright. We’re on schedule. Let’s move.” Everyone shifted immediately, muscle memory,training. They headed for the exit platform in a loose group, boots echoing against metal. Y/n slowed just a fraction, watching them go ahead of her.
No one told her to stay. No one told her to follow either.
She stopped.
The platform rose anyway, lifting the others toward the exit tunnel. Y/n stood alone beneath the towering cave ceiling, the quiet settling in around her like fog.
He said it was a family thing.
She swallowed. Maybe she’d assumed too much. Y/n turned away, stepping back toward the shadows, already reaching the take of her mask.
“Hold it.”
The platform stopped with a hydraulic hiss.
Bruce’s voice. He turned, scanning the group quickly. One head. Two. Three. His eyes narrowed.
“...Where’s Y/n?”
There was a beat of silence.
Dick blinked. “Wasn’t she with us?” Jason frowned. “She was geared up.” Tim glanced back down the platform. “She didn’t get on.”
Bruce didn’t hesitate, he stepped off the platform and strode back into the cave.
Y/n was halfway to the workbench when she heard footsteps. She turned. Bruce stood there, mask still off, his expression confused more than anything else.
.
“Why aren’t you coming?” he asked.
Her stomach twisted.
“Oh,” she said softly, lowering her head. “Uh…I thought-” she hesitated, then forced the words out. “You said this was a family thing. I just…wasn’t sure if that included me.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Bruce stared at her like she’d just said the cave was on fire and he’d somehow missed it.
“What?”
She shifted her weight, suddenly very aware of how alone she sounded. “I mean, I help, and I’m here a lot, but I’m not-” She gestured vaguely. “I didn’t want to assume.”
Bruce’s shoulders dropped. Just a little.
“Y/n,” he said, voice gentler than it had been all morning, “why wouldn’t it include you?”
She looked up, confused. “Because I’m not family.”
Bruce didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t lecture. He simply shook his head.
“Yes,” he said firmly, “you are.”
She froze. “You fight with us. You train with us. You worry about them,” he continued, glancing briefly toward where the others waited. “You worry about me. You belong here.”
Her throat tightened. “If that doesn’t make family,” Bruce added, “then I don’t know what does.”
He held out his hand.
“Now come on, I’m not recounting everyone again.”
For a second, she couldn’t move. Then she took his hand, following him back to the platform.
+
The watchtower was…a lot.
Even for people who lived in a cave with dinosaur and a sentient computer.
The teleportation pad disengaged with a soft hum, light fading as the Batfamily materialized in a clean, open chamber. Massive windows curved overhead, revealing the slow, endless sprawl of space. Earth hung in the distance, blue, quiet, impossibly fragile.
Y/n froze for half a heartbeat.
“Okay,” Steph muttered. “I don’t care how many times we come here. This is still unfairly cool.”
“Try not to touch anything,” Bruce said automatically, already regretting taking them with him.
Jason leaned towards Y/n. “Bet you ten bucks Damian says something insulting within thirty seconds.”
Damian scoffed. “I do not make insulting observations. I make accurate ones.”
Duke snorted.
Before the argument could escalate, a familiar, warm voice cut through the room.
“Bruce.”
Superman approached from the far end of the chamber, already smiling like this was the highlight of his day. He was in his suit, The suit, cape draped easily over his shoulders, posture relaxed.
Beside him walked Wonder Woman.
Y/n’s breath caught. She’d seen pictures, footage, news clips. That didn’t prepare her for the presence.
Wonder Woman moved with quiet confidence, dark hair moved in the wind like she was in a shampoo commercial, armor gleaming softly under the Watchtower lights. Her gaze was sharp but kind, taking in every detail of the group without making anyone feel inspected.
“Welcome,” Diana said warmly. Her eyes flickered briefly to Y/n, lingering for just a second longer than the others. Not judging. Not curious. Recognizing.
Bruce inclined his head. “Clark. Diana.”
Clark grinned wider. “Looks like the whole crew this time.”
"Unfortunately,” Jason muttered.
“Arthur couldn’t attend. Something along the lines of ocean business,” Bruce added, deadpan.
Flash zipped past the group in a blur of red and yellow, returning to hover casually with a grin. “He still says hi.”
Cyborg walked over with a subtle hum, arms panels flickering. “Good to see you all intact. And Bruce, I upgraded the pads like you asked. Faster transition, fewer glitches.”
Y/n blinked, technology and superheroes everywhere. She could feel her knees tighten slightly, heart trying to negotiate between excitement and nerves.
“That must be Y/n,” Clark said suddenly, turning his attention fully to her. Her spine straightened on instinct. “Uh,hi. Yes. That’s me.”
“She heard a lot about you,” Jason said teasingly. “Mostly good. Some exaggerated.”
Dick elbowed him. “I never exaggerate.”
Diana stepped closer, offering her hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
Y/n shook it carefully, half-expecting…something. Strength, power or maybe judgment?
Instead, Diana’s grip was steady and warm.
“You fight alongside them. That tells me more than any report.”
Y/n’s cheek warmed. “I try.”
Bruce cleared his throat. “This is a briefing visit. Short.” Clark raised an eyebrow. “You say that every time.”
They moved into the main conference area, the long table already set with holographic displays. The Batkids spread out like they owned the place, claiming seats like it was their living room. Y/n lingered near the end of the table, unsure, until Cass nudged her gently toward an empty chair.
As the briefing began, something about interdimensional monitoring, intelligence sharing, and threats of an unspecified cosmic nature. Y/n found herself half-listening, half-observing.
Clark leaned casually against the table, cape pooled at his feet, listening intently whenever Bruce spoke. Diana’s attention shifted constantly, tracking micro-expressions, tension, body language. Flash fidgeted, leaning on one leg, thumbs twirling, and Cyborg’s interface glowed softly as he absorbed every data point.
Bruce, tired but always precise, noticed Y/n’s subtle stiffness, the way she hovered at the edge of participation, hands fidgeting with her gloves, eyes scanning instead of resting.
“You seem uncertain,” he said quietly, voice low enough for her only to hear.
Y/n blinked. “I…I don’t know if I should-”
“Your thoughts are welcome,” Bruce said simply. “Tell me how you’d handle a containment mission if this group needed one.”
Her breath hitched. All eyes weren’t on her, but she felt the subtle pull, the gravity of attention. “Uh, well,” she started, voice shaking just slightly. “I’d first assess the perimeter, check for environmental risks, and make sure all team members have clear extraction paths. I’d assign cover to anyone monitoring for hostile activity while the primary objective is secured. If anyone’s compromised, I’d create a decoy to draw them out. And if things escalate… I’d rely on the team, I know their strengths and weaknesses, so I’d adapt on the fly.”
There was a pause. Even Jason was quiet.
Diana raised an eyebrow, impressed. “A clear, strategic mind. I see why they trust you.”
Clark nodded, a little grin tugging at his lips. “Exactly the kind of thinking that keeps people alive. Very impressive.”
Barry leaned forward, thumbs twirling. “Dude. That’s really solid. You’re basically a tactical calculator with style.”
Victor hummed. “Yeah, that’s an actual tactical evaluation that’s better than some contingency protocols I’ve seen.”
Y/n’s cheeks burned, she ducked her gaze at the table.
Bruce’s expression softened slightly, a rare flicker of pride passing behind his otherwise unreadable expression.
The briefing wrapped without ceremony.
Bruce shut down the holographic display with a practical flick of the wrist. “That’s all for now. We’ll coordinate follow-up through secure channels.”
Clark smiled. “You know you’re welcome to stay a bit. No emergencies for at least…,” he glanced toward Barry, “Five minutes?”
Barry snapped his fingers. “Hey! That’s a record!”
Bruce briefly hesitated, then surprisingly nodded. “Five minutes.”
The Batkids reacted like he’d just given them recess. Dick immediately hopped up onto the edge of the table. “Okay,” he said brightly, turning to Barry, “Barry. Question.”
Barry appeared beside him in a blur. “Already invested.”
“Hypothetically,” Dick continued, lowering his voice like this was extremely serious business, “if we race around the Watchtower in opposite directions, would we meet in the middle or phase through each other?”
Barry’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god. I’ve been wondering that for years.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “No.” Victor crossed his arms. "Absolutely not. That sounds like a structural nightmare.”
Dick and Barry looked at each other. “...But just hypothetically,” Barry said. “Pure theoretical,” Dick agreed.
Jason leaned back in his chair. “Ten bucks says they ignore everyone and try it anyway.
Steph was already pulling out her phone. “I’m recording."
Cass wandered towards the window, staring out at Earth in silence. Damian joined her, arms folded, posture stiff but eyes wide despite himself.
Y/n stayed where she was for a moment, then found herself drifting closer to the group without really thinking about it. The tension she’d been carrying since the Batcave had loosened, replaced by something warmer, lighter.
She leaned against the table near Clark as Barry zipped back to his spot, vibrating with barely-contained energy.
“So,” Barry said, grinning at her, “what’s like working with that many brooding types?” Y/n snorted before she could stop herself. “Loud, surprisingly loud.”
Jason pointed at her. “See? She gets it.” Clark laughed softly, the sound easy and genuine. Y/n glanced at him, really looked this time. The suit. The cape. The way he somehow made standing in space the most normal thing there is, but then again he is an alien. A thought had been poking at her brain for a while now.
“Hey,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Can I ask something?”
“Sure.”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “Your disguise. As…you know. Clark Kent.”
Barry perked up. “Oh, this is my favorite topic.”
Clark smiled. “What about it?”
Y/n gestured vaguely towards his face. “The glasses. The posture. The whole thing. Does it really work that well?”
Clark chuckled. “It’s not just the glasses. It’s how I carry myself. Different cadence, different body language. People see what they want to see.”
She considered that, brow furrowing. “But you never…accidentally take them off?” She asked. “Like under stress? Or when you’re exhausted? Do you get tired? Anyway or when you rub your face and forget?”
Jason muttered. “Yeah, I’d blow that in five minutes.”
Clark laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve come close. A few times.”
Y/n’s eyes widened. “And?”
“And most people don’t notice,” he said simply. “Theyn rationalize it away. ‘Oh, he looks kind of like Superman,’ and then they laugh at themselves for thinking something so ridiculous.”
Barry grinned. “Humans are wild like that.”
Y/n huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “So you’re telling me the world’s greatest secret is held together by glasses and posture?”
She leaned back against the table, arms crossed loosely. “That’s…both impressive and terrifying.”
Bruce watched the exchange from a short distance away, arms folded, posture weary but relaxed. His gaze lingered on Y/n for a second longer than the rest, and noticed the way she laughed freely now, shoulders no longer tight, standing among them like she’d always been there.
He looked tired but content.
For five quiet minutes, in a room full of gods and vigilantes and too many children who refused to sit still, things felt…normal.
And that, somehow, was the rarest thing of all.
Do you want to be on the taglist for any know updates? Let me know and you will be added 🩷
Or do you have a request or a question ? Look that the rules on my masterlist, how to request 🩷
Or do you wanna show love or wanna beat me up for playing with your emotions? You know what button to hit 🤭😌
Taglist: @po0ki3 @thesleepiestpilot @powder-fell-down-a-well
Requests are OPEN!
I will take requests for long and short stories (min 900-7k max)
Character:
Bruce Wayne Dick Grayson Jason Todd Tim Drake Damian Wayne
Rules!
Be specfic, what genre (fluff,smut,angst,horror,combo) good or bad ending, what do you want to happen
I do write smut, but no weird shit (under-age, r@pe,incest)
If you want to reach out for clarifications, my dms are open, and thank you for reading, requesting, or just enjoying my writings!
Mastelist
Fear is a language
Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader
Ao3: Fear is a language
Divider by: @uzmacchiato
Word count: 4.7k
Masterlist
Ao3
Summary: It seemed like a easy in and out mission
Warnings: trauma, blood, death, scarecrow
Note: Hello everyone! Ain't I back so quickly? My friend had request a story, so I wrote it. Do you also want a story wrote? Let me know, read the rules of requesting and let's go!
Your likes, reposts and/or comments are very much appericated.
Fear is a language
They were three stories up when it started to go wrong.
Not alarms. Not gunfire. Nothing clean.
Just a sound.
Y/n slowed mid-step, boots hovering an inch above the rusted catwalk. The warehouse stretched endlessly below them, rows of hanging plastic curtains swaying gently despite the lack of wind. The place smelled old, chemicals, mold, stuffy.
Jason was ahead of her, already scanning corners, gun loose in his hand. “You lagging or sightseeing?”
She didn’t answer.
That should have been the first sign.
Her head felt… thick. Like someone had stuffed cotton behind her eyes.
“Y/n?” Jason glanced back. “Hey.”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically.
The lie tasted wrong.
She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, grounding herself. This wasn’t her first mission, it wasn't the worst one either. Crane had been sighted near some old factory two nights ago, but intel said he’d moved on. Tonight was supposed to be a clean sweep: retrieve files, torch the lad and disappear.
Simple.
Jason didn’t see it at first. He was used to the air in Gotham smelling bad. Used to headaches, adrenaline spikes, the faint buzz of danger that never really went away.
So when Y/n stumbled, just barely, just enough for her shoulder to clip the railing, he chalked it up to exhaustion.
“You good?” he asked again, more distracted this time.
She nodded. Too fast.
“Yeah. Just…thought I heard something.”
Jason snorted quietly. “This place is basically haunted. Focus.”
They moved on.
That was mistake number two.
The third mistake came five minutes later, when Y/n stopped responding to comms.
Jason noticed the silence first, not because he was paranoid, but because she was never quiet like this. She always filled dead air with something, sarcasm, commentary, questions she already knew the answers to.
“Y/n,” he said. “Talk to me.”
Static.
He turned, irritation already forming, then stopped.
She was standing dead still, staring at one of the plastic curtains. Her posture was wrong. Shoulders pulled tight. Fingers flexing and curling like they didn’t belong to her.
“...Y/n?”
She whispered something.
Jason stepped closer. “What?”
“I didn’t know they kept them here,” she said.
His stomach dropped. “Kept who?”
She turned slowly. Jason froze at the look in her eyes, they were too wide, too dark.
“They’re watching,” she said. “They always are.”
Jason’s irritation evaporated, replaced by something colder.
“Okay,” he said carefully. “You’re starting to freak me out.”
She blinked at him, confusion rippling across her face like water disturbed by stone. “Why are you dressed like that?”
Jason froze.
“...What?”
“You hate the helmet,” she said, voice trembling. “You said it makes it harder to breathe and sweat more.”
He took a step back.
“Y/n,” he said quietly. “What year do you think it is?”
Her breath hitched.
“I-” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Why would you ask me that?”
Jason activated his scanner, sweeping the air. Nothing spiked. No alarms in his mask. That should’ve reassured him.
It didn’t
“Okay,” he said, forcing calm into his voice. “We’re aborting. Something’s wrong.”
She shook her head violently. “No, no, we can’t leave yet. He’s not done.”
Jason stiffed. “Who’s he?”
She looked past him. Jason turned, and for half a second, he swore he saw someone standing between the curtains.
Tall. Skeletal. Masked.
Then it was gone.
“...Shit.”
Jason’s hand tightened around his gun, dragging it up as he scanned the catwalk again. The plastic curtains swayed lazily, their translucent surfaces blurring the machinery behind them into pale, hanging shapes.
Nothing there.
Still, the back of his neck prickled.
He turned back to Y/n, she was trembling now.
Not the subtle, adrenaline-shake he knew well, but something deeper. Like her body was fighting itself. Her breath came shallow and uneven, chest hitching too fast, too shallow.
“Okay,” he said firmly, stepping into her space. “Look at me.”
She didn’t.
Her gaze slid right through him, pupils blown wide, tracking something he couldn’t see.
Jason reached for her arm. The moment his fingers brushed her sleeve, she reacted. She shoved him hard. Jason stumbled back a step, boots scraping metal. More surprised than hurt.
“What the hell-”
“Don’t touch me!” She snapped,voice sharp with panic. “You’re not real!”
That landed harder than the shove.
Jason lifted both hands slowly, palms out. “Hey. Easy. It's me.”
She laughed, short and hysterical. “That’s what he does. He uses you. Uses your face.”
Jason swallowed.
“Y/n,” he said quietly. “You know that’s not true. Crane got to you.”
Her head jerked up at the name. For a second, clarity flickered, hope and recognition.
Then it shattered.
The warehouse peeled away in her mind.
The catwalk rusted beneath her feet, metal groaning as it warped into something older, darker. The plastic curtains became body bags. Hanging. Swaying. Each one bulged wrong, pressed from the inside like something was trying to claw its way out.
She smelled rot, gasoline, and blood.
Her hands shook violently as she backed away from Jason, no, not Jason, not really, as the thing wearing his face took a step toward her.
“You didn’t come,” it said in his voice. Accusing, flat. “You said you would.”
Her throat closed.
“I tried,” she whispered. “I tried, I tried-”
The body bags split.
Faces spilled out. Pale. Familiar.
People she loved, people she’d failed.
They stared at her with empty eyes, mouths opening in silent screams.
“Stop,” she sobbed. “Please-”
Jason lunged when she bolted. She moved fast, panic-fueled, boots pounding across the catwalk as she tore past him. He grabbed her wrist and missed, fingers scraping fabric.
“Y/n! Stop!”
She spun on him.
Her elbows slammed into his chest, hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Jason grunted, instinctively bringing his arm up as she swung again, wild, uncoordinated, terrified.
“Get away from me!” She screamed. She clipped his helmet, the impact ringing through his skull. Jason swore under his breath.
“Okay,” he muttered. “So we’re doing this.”
He didn’t want to hurt her. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t
But she was spiraling fast.
He caught her next swing, gripping her forearm and twisting just enough to throw her off balance. She fought him like a cornered animal, nails scraping, knees driving forward.
“Y/n,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s fear toxin. You’re hallucinating!”
Her eyes locked onto his. They were glassy. Wet.
“You’re dead,” she whispered.
Jason froze.
Behind her eyes, the nightmare continued.
The thing wearing Jason’s face was bleeding now. Blood ran down from beneath the helmet, dripping onto the floor between them.
“You watched it happen,” it said softly. “You held me.”
Her breath shattered.
“I didn’t,” she choked. “I didn’t-”
The warehouse roof collapsed inward.
Fire everywhere.
Jason, real Jason, felt her go slack for half a second, then she screamed. The sound ripped straight through him. She drove forward suddenly, shoving him back toward the railing, Jason barely caught himself, metal biting into his spine as she pressed closer, hands fisted in his jacket.
“You died in my arms!” she sobbed. “You were so heavy and I couldn’t keep you awake and you wouldn’t stop bleeding-”
Her voice broke completely.
Jason stopped resisting.
He let her push him.
Because he could hear it now, the truth tangled up in the toxin. She wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid because of him.
“Y/n,” he said, voice low, steady. “Look at me.”
She shook her head violently.
“No-”
He did the only thing he could think of.
He pulled her into him. Wrapped his arms around her and held on. She went rigid, then started shaking uncontrollably, fist beating weekly against his chest.
Jason felt it first, the way her grip tightened again instead of loosening. The way her shoulders tensed, spine locking as if something cold had slid between her ribs.
“No,” she whispered.
He frowned, pulling back just enough to look at her face. “Hey. You’re okay. Stay with me.”
Her eyes were open but they weren’t here.
They stared past his shoulder, unfocused, pupils dilated so wide they swallowed the color.
Inside her mind, the warehouse was gone once again. She stood in a narrow hallway. White walls. Too clean. Too bright. The kind of place that smelled like disinfectant and despair. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead, flickering just enough to make her stomach twist.
A hospital.
Her hands were bare, wet, covered in blood.
She looked down and flinched.
Blood coated her fingers up to her wrist, slick and warm, dripping steadily onto the polished floor. The sound echoed obscenely loud in the silence.
“No,” she whispered, backing away from herself. “No, no, no-”
The hallway stretched.
Doors lined the walls now. Each one identical to one another. Each one labeled the same name.
JASON TODD
Her chest constricted. She ran. Every door she passed swung open as she moved, revealing the same room over and over again. A hospital bed, white sheets stained dark, machines screaming uselessly as they flatlined.
Jason lay in every one.
Sometimes younger. Sometimes older. Sometimes broken beyond recognition. Always dead.
“Stop it,” she sobbed, clutching her head. “Please stop-”
A voice drifted down the hall, smooth and pleased.
“Oh, but this is your favorite part.”
She turned.
“I didn’t let him die,”she snarled, fear giving way to fury. “I didn’t.”
“Didn’t you?” The voice answered her once more.
The hallway shifted.
The hospital melted into a familiar alleyway, rain slicking the pavement, neon bleeding across puddles. Gotham at night. Her boots soaking, her kusarigama was heavy at her hip.
Jason stood at the far end of the alley.
Alive.
Relief punched the air from her lungs.
“Jason!” She called, running toward him.
He didn’t move, didn’t smile, didn’t breathe.
“You’re late,” he said flatly. She skidded to a stop. “What? No,I-”
“You said you’d watch my back.”
His helmet vanished. His face was bruised. Bloodied. Eyes dull with disappointment.
“You always say that,” he continued.”Right before something goes wrong.”
The alley darkened, walls closing in as shadows stretched unnaturally long. She reached for him. Her hand passed straight through his chest. He collapsed. She caught him on instinct, knees hitting the wet ground as his weight slammed into her arms. Blood poured freely now, soaking her clothes, her hands, pooling beneath them.
“Stay with me,” she begged, voice breaking. “Please…just stay…”
He laughed weakly.
“That’s what you said last time.”
“No,” she sobbed. “I didn’t-”
“You ran,” Jason said bluntly.
The alley filled with eyes. From windows. From fire escapes. From the dark.
Watching.
Judging.
“You always run.”
She screamed.
Jason felt her body seize. Her nails dug into his shoulder hard enough to hurt,fingers clawing like she was trying to anchor herself to him before something dragged her away.
She thrashed in his arms, a choked sob tearing out of her.
“I didn’t mean to,” she cried. “I didn’t mean to leave you there!”
Jason’s blood ran cold.
Her grip tightened, then faltered.
It was subtle at first, the way her fingers lost strength, nails no longer biting into his shoulder, the frantic shaking slowing into something uneven and wrong.
“Y/n?” he said sharply.
Her head lolled against his chest.
“No,” she whispered. The word barely made it past her lips. Her body sagged in his arms, weight suddenly dead and terrifying real. “I’m sorry.”
Panic punched straight through him.
“Hey. Hey, no, don’t do that.” Jason shifted his stance, bracing her weight, one arm hooked firmly around her back as he pulled her closer. “Stay with me. Look at me.”
Her eyes fluttered. For a split second, they focused. Then they went glassy. Her breath stuttered once, twice. Stopped.
Jason’s heart slammed against his ribs. “No,” he breathed. “No,no-”
Blood bloomed across her chest. Dark. Spreading fast. It soaked through her suit, warm against his gloves as he pressed his hand down instinctively, trying to stop something that made no sense. There hadn’t been a gunshot. No blade. No impact.
Yet the blood kept coming. She smiled at him. Soft. Sad. The way she never smiled unless she meant it.
“You tried,” she whispered. “That’s what matters.”
Something inside Jason fractured.
“Don’t,” he snarled, voice breaking despite himself. “Don’t you dare do this to me.”
Her head tilted back, throat exposed, eyes fixed on nothing as the light drained out of them. Flat. Empty. Dead. Jason felt the world tilt violently. He dropped to his knees without realizing it, hauling her with him, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other slick with blood. His chest burned like he’d swallowed fire.
“No,” he choked. “No, no, no, fuck!”
He pressed his forehead against hers, helmet clacking softly against bone. “You don’t get to go,” he whispered hoarsely. “You don’t-”
Her body went cold.
Too cold.
That was wrong.
His breath hitched as the detail finally cut through the panic. Cold didn’t come that fast. Neither did silence. He pulled back just enough to look at her again. The blood wasn’t pooling correctly. It didn’t drip the way blood should. It smeared too evenly, too staged, like paint dragged across fabric. Jason sucked in a sharp breath. “No, nice try.
The world wavered.
Her face cracked, just slightly, like an image on a broken screen. For half a second, her eyes were too dark, mouth stretching wider than it should. Scarecrow’s laughter crept in around the edges. Jason snarled and squeezed his eyes shut. He focused on what he could trust, weight, heat, the uneven hitch of her breathing against his chest.
“She’s alive,” he said aloud, grounding himself. “You’re not taking her.”
The hallucination screamed.
The warehouse snapped back into place violently, plastic curtains whipping like startled ghosts. Y/n convulsed in his arms, gasping, body jerking as the nightmare fought to pull her under again.
Jason tightened his grip, locking her against him.
“Listen to me,” he said urgently, voice rough. “You’re here. You’re breathing. This isn’t real.”
She whimpered, fingers curling weakly into his jacket. “I can’t tell, I can’t…everything feels-”
“I know,” he cut in, softer now. “I know. That’s okay. You don’t have to. I’ll do that part.”
He activated his comm again with a shaking hand, in the hopes someone, anyone, was listening in.
“Red hood to anyone,” he snapped, voice tight. “We’ve got a Scarecrow toxin exposure. High dose.”
Static crackled, then Dick’s voice cut through. “Jason? Where are you?”
“Upper levels of the Tricorner warehouse,” he replied, eyes never leaving Y/n’s face. “She’s deep under. Full dissociative hallucinations. I’m partially affected but functional.”
There was a beat. “Jesus,” Tim muttered faintly in the background. Jason swallowed. “I need the antidote. Now.”
“On it,” Barbara said immediately. “Routing the fastest path. You need to get her somewhere ventilated.”
“Copy that,” Jason said, already shifting his grip. “I’m moving.”
He tried to get her upright. The moment he loosened his grip, she panicked. “No!” Y/n gasped, hands clawing at his jacket as if the floor had vanished beneath her feet. “Dont…Don’t make me go back there!”
“Hey,” Jason said quickly, catching her before she could fold in on herself again. “We’re not going back. We’re leaving.”
Her head shook violently, hair sticking to her damp forehead. “It’s out there,” she whispered. “I can hear it breathing.”
Jason glanced towards the nearest stairwell. The plastic curtains along the catwalk stirred again, slow and deliberate this time, brushing against each other with a sound like skin on skin.
He hated that a small part of his brain noticed it too. “That’s the toxin talking, it’s not real.”
She flinched as if she was struck by lightning. “Don’t lie to me,” she cried. “You died out there. I watched it happen. You can’t take me somewhere you died.”
“Y/n.” Jason cupped the side of her face through his glove, forcing her attention back to him. “Look at me. I'm right here.”
Her eyes darted over his helmet, his shoulders, the Red Hood emblem like she was searching for seams. Proof. Something to rip away.
“You don’t feel right,” she whispered. “You’re too calm.”
That one hit closer than he liked.
“I’m not calm, “ Jason said, jaw tight. “I’m just not letting you down.” He tried again, guiding her toward the exit. She took half a step and then screamed. She wretched out of his grasp with a burst of frantic strength, stumbling backward, nearly slipping between the catwalk railings. Jason lunged, catching her around the waist just in time.
“No, no, no , no. Don’t make me go out there!” She sobbed, thrashing weakly. “ That’s where they are! Waiting for me to fail-”
She broke off into a choked sound, nails digging into his arm. Jason swore under his breath. “Okay, that’s it.” He didn’t argue anymore. He scooped her up. One arm hooked under her knees, the other locked securely around her back, pulling her tight against her chest before she could react. She gasped, hands flying up to grab at his shoulders, panic flaring bright and sharp.
“Jason! Put me down!” She cried.
“Can’t,” he said simply, already moving. “You’re not in charge right now.”
She struggled,not hard, just enough to tell him how terrified she was. Her head tucked instinctively into the curve of his neck, breath hot and uneven against his collar.
“They’re going to see me,” she mumbled. “They’re all going to see what I did.”
“Nobody’s watching,” Jason said, taking the stairs two at the time. “Just me.”
The world tilted again. For a heartbeat, the stairwell stretched impossibly long, shadows pooling at the bottom like oil. Jason saw shadows dance along the edge of his vision. He blinked hard.
“Not today.” He growled, tightening his grip and forcing his focus back to the sound of her breathing. In. Out. Still there.
“Jason,” she whimpered, clutching to him like a lifeline. “I don’t want to be alone.”
The words sliced straight through him.”You’re not. Not now. Not ever.”
He burst through the final exit door and into the night air. The hit of the cold made everything feel sharp and real. Y/n gasped as fresh air hit her lungs, body shuddering violently in his arms. She sagged against him, strength draining fast, fear still buzzing under her skin but dulled, just a fraction. Jason didn’t stop moving.
“Oracle. We’re outside.” He said into the comm, breath hard.
“I see you,” Barbara replied. “Antidote is on its way. Stay with her.”
Jason looked down at Y/n’s face, pale and exhausted, eyes still unfocused but no longer screaming.
“Hey,” he murmured. “You hear that? Help is coming.” Her fingers twitched weakly in his jacket. “Don’t let go,” she whispered. Jason tightened his grip. ”Not a chance.”
Jason lowered himself carefully to one knee near the wall, keeping Y/n tucked against him as if the ground itself couldn’t be trusted. He didn’t set her down. Didn’t even try. Her weight in his arms was the only thing anchoring him right now.
Her breathing hitched in shallow, uneven pulls. Each one sounded like it cost her something.
“That’s it,” he murmured, more to himself than her. “Easy. Just breathe.”
She nodded weakly, though her eyes still didn’t quite focus. Her lashes fluttered, damp with tears she didn’t remember crying. One of her hands slid down his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his jacket like she was afraid he’d vanish if she let go. Jason let her.
He shifted slightly, bracing his back against the brick wall, angling her so her head rested against his shoulder. He could feel her heartbeat through her suit, too fast, too light. Like a bird trapped in a closed room.
“You’re safe,” he said quietly. “Air is clean. I’ve got you.”
She swallowed. “It still feels loud. Inside.”
“I know.” He hesitated, then added, softer. “That’ll pass.”
She leaned into him without realizing it, forehead pressing against the curve of his helmet.
Cool air rushed in as he pulled it off and set it aside. He didn’t want anything between them right now. No metal. No filters. No lies.
Her eyes tracked the movements vaguely.
“You took it off,” she said.
“Yeah,” he replied. “You’re gonna need to see my face when this settles.” She huffed out a weak, broken sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Bossy.”
Silence fell between them. Not empty. Just them. Sirens wailed somewhere far off. Footsteps echoed on the rooftop above them, probably Dick or Tim closing in. But none of it felt immediate.
Y/n’s breathing slowly began to even out, still shaky, but real. Her fingers loosened their death grip on his jacket, then curled again, gentler this time. Like she was testing wheter the ground would still be there.
“Jason,” she whispered.
“I’m here.”
“I thought I lost you again,” she said, voice barely there. “Over and over. I couldn’t stop it.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know,” he said. He didn’t tell her it wasn’t real. Didn’t try to logic her out of something that had felt like truth in her bones. “You didn’t.”
Her eyes finally focused properly, dark and glassy, meeting his for the first time since the toxin took hold. There was confusion there. Fear. And something softer, more dangerous.
“You stayed,” she said quietly, not a question.
Jason’s hand came up, resting warm and steady between her shoulder blades. “Always.”
She closed her eyes at that, breath shuddering as the last of the tension bled out of her.
Her head tipped forward, rating against his collarbone this time. Exhaustion claimed her in heavy waves.
Jason stayed still. still counting her breaths. One. Two. Three.
Only when he felt her fully settle did he let himself exhale.
Headlights washed over the mouth of the alley. A familiar engine hum followed.
“Red Hood,” Tim’s voice came through the comm. “We’ve got the antidote.”
Jason didn’t look up
“Bring it here,” he commanded.
He looked down at her again, thumb brushing absently over her sleeve, grounding himself in the simple fact of her being alive.
Footsteps echoed at the mouth of the alley before Jason registered them.
He didn’t look up until Tim crouched in front of them, careful not to crowd. Barbara’s voice came through the comm in Jason’s ear, low and steady. coordinating with Dick somewhere above.
“I’ve got it,” Tim said softly, already pulling the injector from his pack. Clear casing, rich blue fluid.
Jason’s arm tightened instinctively around Y/n as Tim moved closer.
“She’s responsive,” he said quietly. “In and out. Don’t rush it.”
Tim nodded. “I won’t.”
Y/n stirred at the unfamiliar presence. Her brow furrowed, breath catching again as her eyes fluttered open. Panic flared fast, sharp and reflexive.
“Hey,” Jason murmured immediately, lowering his forehead to hers. “You’re okay. It’s just Tim.”
Her gaze flicked wildly between them, reality still slipping at the edges.
“I don’t like needles.
Jason huffed a quiet breath. “Yeah, I figured that.”
He shifted just enough to keep her steady, one hand braced at her lower back, the other anchoring her wrist gently but firmly when her fingers twitched.
“Listen to me,” he said calmly, “this is going to help. It’s the antidote. In and out, then it’s done.”
She swallowed hard. “You’re staying?”
His answer was immediate. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That seemed to matter. Her shoulders eased a fraction. Time waited until Jason gave a small nod before moving in. He cleaned the injection site with practiced, efficient movements, smooth and unhurried. No sudden motions, no surprises.
“This’ll burn a little,” Tim warned. “It’ll be over in three.”
Jason counted for her.
“One,” he murmured as the needle slid in.
She flinched, a sharp intake of breath tearing from her chest. Her fingers clenched in Jason’s jacket again, nails digging this time.
“Two,” he continued steadily, thumb tracing slow circles against her back. “You’re doing great.”
The fluid pushed in slowly. Methodically. Her face twisted, a soft whimper escaping before she could stop it. Jason leaned closer, voice dropping lower, closer to something more private.
“Almost there. Stay with me.”
“Jason,” she breathed, the sound fragile.
“I’ve got you,”he said. “I promise.”
Time withdrew the needle and pressed gauze over the spot. “Done.” Jason didn’t relax, not yet. The antidote didn’t work like flipping a coin. It crept. It unwound the toxin’s grip in slow, uneven waves. Y/n shuddered once, then again, breath stuttering as if her body didn’t trust the quiet.
Her eyes squeezed shut. “I can still see it,” she whispered. “It’s fading but-”
“I know,” Jason said softly. “Let it face. You don’t have to fight it.”
Her breathing deepened gradually. The tension in her limbs loosened, fingers uncurling from claws into hands again. The tremors softened into residual shivers, more exhaustion than fear now.
Tears slipped free, silent and unbidden.
Jason felt them soak into his collar. He didn’t comment. Didn’t wipe them away. Just held her, solid and unmoving, a constant she could lean against while her mind stitched itself back together.
Tim packed the injector away quietly. “Vitals are stabilizing. She’ll be disoriented for a while.”
Jason nodded. “She’s not walking.”
“I figured.”
Nightwing dropped down from above, landing lightly nearby. He took one look at the way Jason was holding her and didn’t say a word.
Y/n shifted slightly, cheek pressing against Jason’s chest. Her voice came out hoarse, exhausted.
“Is it over?”
Jason rested his chin lightly against the top of her head.
“Yeah, it’s over.”
Her shoulders sagged fully then, the last of the fight leaving her body. She didn’t pass out, just let herself exist, held together by his arms and the quiet assurance of being here. Jason stayed exactly where he was.
They didn’t take her back to the cave.
Jason turned that down immediately.
Too loud. Too bright. Too many memories she didn’t need brushing up against her while her mind was still fragile. And as much he wanted to deny it, it was for himself as well. Instead, they rerouted, quiet safehouse, off the grid, the kind Bruce pretends to not know about.
Jason carried her.
Not because she couldn’t walk, though her legs still trembled when she tried but because she didn’t argue when he lifted her, that mattered more than anything else. Her arms curled weakly around his neck, breath warm against his collarbone.
He laid her down on the couch carefully, like she might shatter if he moved too fast. She made a small sound of protest when his arms withdrew, fingers catching in his sleeve.
“Don’t,” she murmured.
He paused. “I’m right here,” he said, settling back beside her instead. Close enough that their shoulders touched. Close enough that she didn’t have to reach. That seemed to be enough.
The antidote continued to do its quiet work. The sharp edges of the hallucinations dulled into distant echoes. Her breathing evened out. The shaking stopped.
Minutes passed, maybe longer.
“Jason,” she said eventually, voice lowe and tired.
“Yeah?”
“I saw things.” Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his jacket. “Things I don’t even wanna see again.”
He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was steady, careful. “You won’t.”
She swallowed. “Some of it felt real.”
He turned slightly, just enough to look at her. Her eyes were clear now, exhausted but present.
“So did watching you go through it,” he said quietly.
She searched his face, like she was trying to decide whether to push further. He didn’t let her. “Hey,” he added, softer. “You came back to me.”
Her shoulders eased at that. The tension she’d been holding onto finally let go. She nodded once, small and slow.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I did.”
Silence settled between them again, not heavy this time, comforting.
She shifted closer in her sleep sometime later, forehead resting against his shoulder. Jason didn’t move. Didn’t check the time. Didn’t leave. Outside, Gotham kept breathing. Sirens. Distant thunder. Life going on like it always did.
Inside the safehouse, the nightmare finally loosened its grip.
Jason stayed awake long after he knew she was sleeping, listening to the rhythm of her breath, grounding himself in the simple truth. She was here, she was safe.
And for tonight, just tonight, that was enough.
What do you think? this is what my bestie thought then I let her read it. She's the one that requested this:
Do you want to be on the taglist for any know updates? Let me know and you will be added 🩷
Or do you have a request or a question ? Look that the rules on my masterlist, how to request 🩷
Or do you wanna show love or wanna beat me up for playing with your emotions? You know what button to hit 🤭😌
Taglist: @po0ki3 @thesleepiestpilot @powder-fell-down-a-well
Get to know your mutuals
I wasn't tagged, but saw this on my dash and thought it would be fun to do
What is the origin of your blog name?
-Bucky Barnes on a motorcycle
What’s your “I will always order this” food?
-More of a dish I think.. but the chicken alfredo from my local Olive Garden is my go to comfort food
What’s your overused emoji?
-Definitely this one -> 😂
What’s your current comfort show/movie/book?
-I have too many comfort movies to name, but recently I've been rewatching The Lord of the Rings movies and the Jurassic Park movies
What’s the last thing you hyperfixated on?
-Leon's return to the Resident Evil franchise has reignited my hyperfixation for the game series
What’s an oddly specific thing that brings you joy?
-Polaroid photos. My first camera was an old Polaroid that my grandma gave me and every time I see one it brings back memories of her ❤️
What’s something you loved as a kid that you secretly love now?
-Dancing in the rain
What’s your phone wallpaper right now?
-I'm single and the only one that looks at my phone so why not enjoy the view?
Are you a morning person, night owl, or something else entirely?
-Permanently exhausted pigeon. Insomnia is terrible
Lastly, if you work, what is your work profession? And do you like it?
-I'm a mechanic. I do enjoy it, but have considered changing careers
Tagging with absolutely no pressure -
@stanmarvelous @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @sunday-bug @werewolfgirl1995 @navybrat817 @sergeantbarnessdoll @solivagant-reverie @bucksbby @wintersgirllost @wint3rbarnes @targaryenvampireslayer @themareverine @daydreamgoddess14
and anyone else that wants to join in
@steelandvibranium thank you for the tag!🩵
What is the origin of your blog name?
It was inspired by Captain America: The First Avenger
What’s your “I will always order this” food?
Chick-Fli-A’s Mac and Cheese
What’s your overused emoji?
🩵
What’s your current comfort show/movie/book?
Grey’s Anatomy
What’s the last thing you hyperfixated on?
I think it was the new season of Stranger Things that I haven’t gotten around to watch yet
What’s an oddly specific thing that brings you joy?
Going to a sunflower patch every Summer🌻
What’s something you loved as a kid that you secretly love now?
Going to work with my mom even though her boss enforced a rule where employees can’t bring anyone to work with them anymore which I understand
What’s your phone wallpaper right now?
The one on the left is my lock screen and the one on the right is my home screen
Are you a morning person, night owl, or something else entirely?
I’m mostly a night owl, but I can be a morning person sometimes
Lastly, if you work, what is your work profession? And do you like it?
I don’t have a job, but I am looking for one. Although, I’ve always liked my mom’s job
No pressure tags: @kpopgirlbtssvt @navybrat817 @jobean12-blog @buckets-and-trees @sunday-bug @societyfolklore @azriona @lives-in-midgard @holylulusworld @iamthatonefangirl @thenameswinter99 @mrs-elsie-barnes @marvelavengerspovs1
What is the origin of your blog name?
I can't really remember, probably to do with story telling and just how everything folklore really...
What’s your “I will always order this” food?
ummm.... goes coffee count? Otherwise it changes so much..
What’s your overused emoji?
:P 😛 ... ❤️ too is up there
What’s your current comfort show/movie/book?
Avengers... I watch that a lot or GoG... Show: West Wing...
What’s the last thing you hyperfixated on?
Ummm.....Shibari
What’s an oddly specific thing that brings you joy?
Sitting in my drive on warm nights listening to music
What’s something you loved as a kid that you secretly love now?
Hanging upside down
What’s your phone wallpaper right now?
I actually don't have one - its just black...lol
Are you a morning person, night owl, or something else entirely?
I have to be a morning person, but I'm a night owl
Lastly, if you work, what is your work profession? And do you like it?
Umm my role is evolving right now and yeah.. its thing.. there are parts I like, parts I wish I did more of... yeah... dont ask LOL
tags: @starfly-nicole @ozwriterchick @mischiefmaker615 @buckybarnesfic@soelstress @buckgasms @buckysbabygorl
What is the origin of your blog name?
- my friend and I saw a Gru meme saying “baby gorl” and being obsessed with Bucky at the time, just lumped the two together!
What’s your “I will always order this” food?
- cheeseburgers, hands down
What’s your overused emoji?
- 🫣
What’s your current comfort show?
- Family Guy, perfect to throw on in the background and shut my brain off
What’s the last thing you hyper fixated on?
- JJK has me in a major chokehold
What’s an oddly specific thing that brings you joy?
- Fuze zero sugar iced tea
What’s something you loved as a kid that you secretly love now?
- making crafts. I’ll get an idea to fiddle with something or create a paper snowflake and it warms my heart
What’s your phone wallpaper right now?
- a behind the scenes selfie from a photoshoot I did a couple weeks ago
Are you a morning person, night owl, or something different entirely?
- night owl for sure, though I wish I had the energy to be up at 5 am
Lastly, if you work, what’s your work profession? Do you like it?
- I work in insurance doing admin. And I absolutely love it. Which I never thought I’d say in my lifetime.
@obsidianvibranium @sweetlysilent
Thank you for the tag @buckysbabygorl 🥰
What is the origin of your blog name?
Bucky’s Wakandan arm; it looks almost purple in some lights like obsidian does. And black and purple are my two fav colors so…
What’s your “I will always order this” food?
I don’t really have one; my cravings are very specific, so I go with the current vibe lol
What’s your overused emoji?
Probably 💜 & 🙃
What’s your current comfort show/movie/book?
My comfort show/movie/book also change with ✨the vibes✨lol but heres the current list:
Show: The Great British Baking Show
Movie: The Sound of Music
Book: Hamlet
What’s the last thing you hyperfixated on?
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. It was amazing! I read it in October and I still keep going back to it!
What’s an oddly specific thing that brings you joy?
The smell of freshly brewed coffee in the morning (even though I don’t drink it lol) ☕️
What’s something you loved as a kid that you secretly love now?
Stuffed animals 🧸
What’s your phone wallpaper right now?
A rotation of pictures of my cats because they are my babies
Are you a morning person, night owl, or something else entirely?
Night Owl 100% 🦉
Lastly, if you work, what is your work profession? And do you like it?
I’m on a sabbatical for family matters but I was a teacher; I love the actual teaching part but I very much dislike the bureaucracy and bullshit politics.
No Pressure Tags:
@godmadeaterribleerror @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @shurisneakers @winter-soldier-vibes @notgoingwell @itistimeforusalltodecidewhoweare / @intrepidacious @notyouraveragemailman / @imaginearyparties @writing-for-marvel
thank you @obsidianvibranium !!!!
What is the origin of your blog name?
I don't even know lmao. I needed a name. I thought of this. here we are.
What’s your “I will always order this” food?
chicken fried rice :)
What’s your overused emoji?
😭 and it's not even close
What’s your current comfort show/movie/book?
ummmmmm it depends? But right now;
Show: old John Oliver interviews on the Late Show (there's something wrong with me okay)
Movie: Muppet Christmas Carol
Book: I'm re-reading the Power Broker rn but that is NOT comfort so fanfic.😭
What’s the last thing you hyperfixated on?
i haven't hyper-fixed in a hot minute, but i also haven't consumed a lot of new media because of final. I think my last one was in the summer, when I re-watched Succession.
What’s an oddly specific thing that brings you joy?
remember that i am an adult and can buy as much ice cream as i want all the time.
What’s something you loved as a kid that you secretly love now?
also stuffed animals :)
What’s your phone wallpaper right now?
i am a loser who has a black wallpaper, but it's because i color code my apps and pair them with album covers :)
Are you a morning person, night owl, or something else entirely?
whatever my body decideds i'm fucking with today.
Lastly, if you work, what is your work profession? And do you like it?
I'm a teacher! and a student. I like my job, don't love that i have to do school.
No pressure tags! : @theoneandonlyplaylistanon @thebitchandjerkwinchesters @youdontknowe @let-it-sn0o0ow @deansbbyx @deans-yn @deanwinchestersunhappythoughts @dammbi @cookiemonstermusic258 @brtodd @lilithxlm
Thank you! @godmadeaterribleerror even though I’m so late to this, here we go!
What is the origin of your blog name?
I’m addicted to cookies and my favorite number is 2 and 5 looks like 2 but upside down and 8 is 2+2+2+2 and more twos the better
What’s your “I will always order this” food?
Double cheeseburger, I would be happy to choke to death on one
What’s your overused emoji?
-Definitely this one -> 🤭
I always use it when I did or said something I shouldn’t have
What’s your current comfort show/movie/book?
Show? I have a few: Atla , House Md, Weak hero one class
Movie: The grinch and Monsters Inc
What’s the last thing you hyperfixated on?
Right now the saint row game series, I’m currently at 80% on the fourth one
What’s an oddly specific thing that brings you joy?
Christmas lights, I don’t know how to contain my happiness when I see them. I think I was a moth in my past life.
What’s something you loved as a kid that you secretly love now?
Almost like everyone plushies, but it’s no secret because they’re everywhere in my room
What’s your phone wallpaper right now?
Are you a morning person, night owl, or something else entirely?
Mainly night owl but I’m sometimes still awake at 6am so I guess that also makes me an morning person
Lastly, if you work, what is your work profession? And do you like it?
Well your girl just got hired and my first day will be next month! But I take care of elderly, mentally unstable, physically disabled people so they can live at home longer
Tags, don’t feel pressured at all: @po0ki3 @powder-fell-down-a-well @thesleepiestpilot
Fourth chapter of Just friend?
Fourth chapter of Just friend?
Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader
Ao3: Time flies when you're having fun.
Divider by: @uzmacchiato
Word count: 14.2k
Masterlist
Ao3
Summary: Will they be on time?
Warnings: Violence, blood, trauma, torture
Tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, mental health issues, eventual smut, trauma, violence, blood, torture
Note: Hello everyone! I'm so sorry for the constant delay, to be honest not my favorite chapter. I feel like I couldn't give it my all, but I tried and that's all that matters. I've to keep in mind that I'm still a beginner and all of this is new to me. Big thank you to my bestie for reading and correcting stuff, because I was losing my mind. I'd tag her but silly doesn't have an tumblr account. I hope you like it!
Your likes, reposts and/or comments are very much appericated.
< Chapter 3- Chapter 5 >
Pain arrived first.
Not sharp, not sudden, but everywhere. A deep, grinding ache that threaded through his shoulders and down his arms, heavy and insistent, like his bones were being pulled apart one inch at a time. His wrists burned. Not the clean sting of a fresh cut, but the raw, grinding heat of metal against his skin, friction layered over pressure layered over time.
His breath hitched.
His eyes flew open.
For a split second, he didn’t understand what he was seeing. The ceiling was too far away, swallowed by darkness. Light, harsh and white, cut down from somewhere above, catching on dust in the air. The world tilted when he tried to move.
That was when the chains answered him. They groaned, low and metallic, the sound vibrating straight through his arms and into his chest.
Jason froze.
His heart slammed into his ribs, wild and uncoordinated. Panic surged so fast it stole the air from his lungs. He sucked in a breath that scraped his throat raw and tried to pull his arms down. Pain exploded through his shoulders.
A sharp, helpless sound tore out of him before he could stop it, half a gasp, half a growl. His muscles spasmed, reflexively fighting the restraint, and the chains bit deeper into his wrists.
He sagged instinctively.
His feet scraped concrete. Barely.
The tips of his toes dragged along the floor, enough to keep him from fully hanging, not enough to give him relief. His heels hovered uselessly above the ground. Every ounce of his weight pulled downward, stretching his shoulders, wrenching his arms back and up at an angle that made his vision blur at the edges.
No,no,no.
He forced himself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through clenched teeth.
The air was stale. Cold. It tasted like rust and old oil and something faintly chemical underneath. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out everything else.
Think. Don’t panic.
Easier said than done.
Jason turned his head slowly, careful not to sway too much. The room revealed itself in pieces: concrete walls disappearing into shadow, stains he didn’t want to look at too closely, the faint outline of industrial equipment pushed against the wall. No windows. No obvious exits. Just darkness.
A warehouse, maybe. Or a storage facility. Somewhere forgotten.
Joker.
The name slid into his mind uninvited, heavy and poisonous. The memory of their altercation comes back in flashes.
Jason swallowed, throat tight.
He tested his wrists, rotating them a fraction of an inch. The chains were looped tight, reinforced. Cold iron pressed into his skin already rubbed raw. Any real struggle would tear flesh long before it bent metal.
Okay. Fine.
He let his head fall forward for a moment, chin brushing his chest. His hair hung into his eyes, damp with sweat. His breathing came fast and shallow, but he forced it to slow down, counting each inhale, each exhale.
You don’t waste energy panicking.
That was rule one.
His toes slid again, an involuntary reflex as his legs searched for relief. The scrape echoed softly across the floor. The sound felt too loud, too exposed, like he was announcing his existence to the room.
Jason stilled, he listened.
Nothing.
No footsteps, no laughter. No voice drifting from the shadows. Just the faint hum of electricity somewhere far off and the slow creak of chains responding to his breathing.
He was alone. For now, the realization didn’t comfort him the way it should have. Alone meant time and time in Joker’s hands, was never neutral.
Jason began cataloging damage, forcing his mind into familiar territory. Wrists raw, already burning, no numbness yet, good. That meant circulation hadn’t fully cut off. His arms were shaking slightly, not weakness yet, just strain. His back was arched, muscles screaming as it worked overtime to stabilize him. His legs were tense, calves burning as he stayed on the balls of his feet. Toes dragging just enough to keep him upright.
His shoulders were the worst of them all. A deep, spreading pain that warned him exactly how long he could stay like this before something gave out.
Designed, he thought grimly. This is designed.
If he fully collapsed, all his weight would snap down onto his shoulders. If he tried to stand too much, he’d lose what little leverage he had. If he thrashed, he’d bleed and exhaust himself quicker.
It was a balance. A cruel one.
Jason shifted his weight carefully, dragging one foot a few inches to the side, then the other. The movement was tiny, barely noticeable, but it changed the angle of the pull just enough to send a sharp spike of pain through his arms.
He hissed through his teeth and stopped.
He adjusted again, slower this time, micro-movements only. A slight bend in the knees. A controlled drop of his heels that immediately sent fire up his legs, forcing him back onto his toes.
His mind raced, searching for options.
There was no chair to kick out. No crate to hook a foot under. No pipe low enough to brace against. Joker knew exactly how to remove leverage without fully immobilizing him.
Jason laughed softly under his breath, a humorless sound that echoed too much.
“This is just great,” he muttered hoarsely to the empty room.
The sound of his own voice grounded him, just a little. Reminded him he was still here. Still thinking.
He tried to estimate time. How long had he been out? Minutes? Hours? His body felt like it had already been suspended too long, muscles protesting the unfamiliar strain.
His throat was dry. Swallowing hurt.
They took my gear, he realized. No helmet, no comms. Just his clothes, torn, damp, sticking to his skin. His boots were gone too, leaving his feet exposed to the cold concrete.
A calculated move. He dragged his toes again, just a fraction, testing friction. The concrete was rough enough to catch skin if he pushed too hard. Another calculated cruelty.
Jason’s breathing steadied as his panic ebbed into something colder and sharper. Fear was still there, loud, insistent, but it was no longer in control. He began experimenting in earnest. A small sway to the left. Chains creaked. A controlled sway to the right. More creaking. The anchor point held firm.
He rotated his wrist again, carefully, ignoring the way the metal bit deeper. The chains links were thick, industrial. No weak points he could feel. No slack to exploit.
His shoulders trembled, muscles threatening to give. He immediately shifted weight onto his toes again, calves screaming as they took some of the load.
You can do this, he told himself. You’ve had worse.
Time crawled. Minutes stretched long and indistinct, measured only by the growing burn in his arms and the ache settling deep into his bones. He lost track of how many times he adjusted his stance, how many times his muscles spasmed and he had to fight to keep control. One of his legs buckled unexpectedly.
His heart lurched into his throat as his heels dropped fully, his weight snapping down into his shoulders. White-hot pain exploded through him, stars bursting behind his eyes. He cried out, a sharp, broken sound, before clamping his jaw shut.
Idiot.
He scrambled to recover, dragging his toes hard against the concrete until his calves screamed and his heels lifted again. The relief was minimal, but it was enough to keep his shoulders from tearing.His breath came fast and ragged.
Focus.
He forced himself to slow it again, counting heartbeats this time. Anything to keep his mind occupied. Anything to keep it from spiraling. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped. Slow. Steady. A metronome marking time he couldn’t see.
Jason tilted his head back, staring into the light. It hurt his eyes, but he welcomed the distraction.Sweat dripped down into his lashes, blurring his vision.
His arms shook harder now, fatigue creeping in despite his efforts. His wrists burned, skin screaming with every tiny movement. He could already feel blisters forming, raw patches where the metal had rubbed too long. Blood would come soon. Jason swallowed, jaw tight.
Okay. So what’s the play?
Escaping right now was unlikely. He knew that. Whatever restraint held him was meant to last. But staying alert mattered. Conserving energy mattered. Not letting fear take over mattered.
And if, when Joker showed up…
Jason’s expression hardened.
He wouldn’t give him what he wanted. Another twitch ran through his arm, muscle spasming under the strain. His heart skipped, panic flaring again before he forced it down. He adjusted quickly, compensating, breathing through the pain.
Control the body, he told himself. Then control the situation.
Jason couldn’t tell when the first hour ended and the second began, only that something shifted. The pain stopped being loud and sharp and became constant, a grinding presence that sank into his muscles and refused to leave. His shoulders felt swollen, overworked, like they were being held together by willpower alone. Every breath pulled against them. Every swallow hurt.
Sweat cooled against his skin, turning clammy in the stale air.
His calves trembled in earnest now. The careful balance he’d found earlier was slipping, his legs struggling to compensate for the strain in his arms. He dragged his toes across the concrete again, slower this time, friction biting into his skin.
Stay upright, he told himself. Just stay upright.
The room felt smaller.
Not physically, but mentally, like the walls were inching closer, like the darkness pressed in when he wasn’t watching it. The hum of electricity seemed louder now, pulsing faintly through the room. The drip of water somewhere in the distance had grown maddeningly steady.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Jason clenched his jaw.
Ignore it.
He shifted again, carefully redistributing his weight. His wrists screamed in protest. He could feel warmth trickling down his forearms now, sweat, blood, or both. He didn’t look. Looking would make it real. A sudden dizziness washed over him, fast and disorienting.
He sucked in a sharp breath and held it, grounding himself. His vision blurred at the edges, the light above smearing into something hazy and unfocused.
Okay. That’s new.
Dehydration, probably. Or shock. Or his body starting to complain louder. Jason forced himself to blink slowly, counting each one. Five. Ten. Fifteen. The world steadied.He tilted his head slightly, listening again. That was when he heard it.
Footsteps. Slow. Unhurried. Echoing faintly against concrete.
Jason’s muscles went rigid on instinct. Pain flared and his body reacted before his brain could stop it. The chains rattled softly.The footsteps stopped.
Silence stretched. Then.
A laugh. Low at first. Almost thoughtful. Like someone amused by an inside joke.Jason closed his eyes.
Here we go.
“Well, well,” the voice drawled, drifting easily through the dark. “You always did wake up faster than expected.” The light shifted. A second bulb flickered on somewhere to Jason’s left, illuminating a slice of the room he hadn’t seen before. Metal shelves. A worktable. Tools laid out neatly, almost lovingly. And leaning casually against the table, hands folded behind his back:
The Joker.
His suit was wrinkled, the purple dulled with grime. Green hair slicked back unevenly, like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. His smile stretched wide, familiar and deeply wrong. Jason exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Thought I told you,” he rasped, voice raw. “I don’t do surprise parties.” Joker clapped his hands together, delighted. The sound cracked sharply through the room. “Oh, but that’s the best kind! No expectations! No disappointment!”
He stepped closer, his footsteps echoing again, stopping just outside Jason’s reach. Joker turned his head, inspecting him like a piece of art hung too high on the wall. “Tsk,tsk,” he hummed. “You look tired. We’ve got to do something about that, shall we?”
Jason’s fingers curled reflexively, chains biting deeper. His shoulders screamed, but he didn’t react outwardly. Joker’s smile twitched.He circled Jason slowly, footsteps deliberate, shoes scraping just enough to stay heard. Jason tracked him with his eyes, neck protesting as he turned his head inch by inch.
“You know,” Joker continued. “I almost didn’t use chains. Thought about nails. Thought about hooks. But this?” He gestured vaguely at Jason’s arms. “This lets you participate. I’m generous like that.”
Jason swallowed.
A gloved finger pressed lightly into Jason’s spine. Jason hissed despite himself, muscles tightening involuntarily. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his shoulders, his arms trembling harder now. Joker laughed, delighted. “Oh, that’s new. Sensitive already? We’re making progress!”
Jason forced his breathing to steady again, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. He refused to give Joker more than he already had. “Have a lot of time to plan this?” Jason asked hoarsely. “Or did you miss me that much?”
Joker leaned around into his line of sight, face inches away. His breath smelled faintly of chemicals and something sweetly rotten.“I missed the family,” he corrected. “You’re just the invitation.” Jason’s stomach dropped. Before he could respond, Joker stepped back abruptly, clapping his hands again. “Now, let’s check the hardware!”
He reached up suddenly and yanked one of the chains downward. Jason cried out, the sound ripped from him as his shoulder jolted violently. His feet lost contact with the floor entirely for a split second before his toes scraped back down, barely catching him.
Pain exploded through his arms. His vision went white, then dark at the edges. He gasped, chest heaving.
Joker hummed approvingly. “Still holding. That’s impressive.”
Jason hung there, shaking, breath coming in ragged pulls. His arms felt numb now, a dangerous, creeping numbness that scared him more than the pain.
Don’t black out, he begged silently. Not now.
Joker tilted his head, studying him. “You know you always were my favorite test subject. So much grit. So much anger. It’s like pulling teeth, but the teeth fight back.”
Jason forced himself to lift his head, eyes burning. “Get it over with,” he spat. “Whatever this is.”
Joker’s expression softened into something almost fond.
“Oh, no,no,no,” he said gently. “We’re just getting started.”
He turned away, strolling back towards the shadows, turning the lights off, his laughter trailing behind him like a stain.
Jason learned quickly that the Joker didn’t believe in silence.
The moment the light cut earlier, Jason assumed, hoped, it meant a temporary reprieve. Time to breathe. Time to recalibrate. Time to let his muscles settle into misery without someone actively making it worse.
But the footsteps never truly left.
They just shifted.
Soft shoes against concrete. The faint rustles of fabric. Joker moving somewhere just beyond the edge of the light, deliberately out of sight but never out of earshot. Like a predator circling, letting its presence sink in.
Jason swallowed, throat dry and burning.
His arms shook uncontrollably now. Not violently, worse than that. Small, persistent tremors that refused to stop. The kind that meant muscles were exhausting themselves trying to hold on. His toes scraped weakly against the floor.
Don’t lock your knees.
Don’t let the weight hang fully.
Don’t panic.
“Y’know,” Joker said casually from the dark, “most people scream by now.”
Jason forced a breath through his nose.
A light flickered on again, brighter this time, harsher, angled straight at Jason’s face. He blinked against it, eyes stinging as his pupils struggled to adjust. White spots danced across his vision, his jaw tightening.
“Let’s talk about control,” Joker said brightly. “See, you’ve had a lot of it. Even hanging there, you’re managing. Shifting weight, thinking how to breathe, planning.”
He pouted exaggeratedly. “That simply won’t do.”
Joker pressed a button.
Pain slammed into Jason without warning.
Not sharp. Not cutting.
Electrical.
Jason’s body convulsed violently, muscles seizing as a jolt tore through his arms, shoulders, spine. His feet kicked out uselessly, toes scraping desperately as his grip on control vanished in an instant.
A strangled sound ripped from his throat.
The shock stopped as abruptly as it began.
Jason gasped, chest heaving, vision swimming. His arms burned like they’d been doused in fire. The numbness vanished, replaced with a screaming sensation.
Joker tilted his head. “See? Predictable pain lets you brace for it. This?” He waggled the remote. “This keeps you guessing.”
Jason swallowed hard, sweat dripping down his temple.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “Real creative.”
Joker clicked his tongue. “Don’t be rude. You haven’t even seen the settings yet.”
He paced closer, his shoes tapping against the concrete. Jason’s body betrayed him with another shudder, muscles flinching in anticipation.
Joker noticed. “Ohhh,” he cooed. “That’s the look. That little twitch? That’s uncertainty setting in.” He pressed another button.
Nothing happened.
Jason sucked in a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Joker laughed loudly. “Oh, that was cruel, wasn't it?” Jason’s teeth ground together. He refused to look away.
The next shock came five seconds later.
Stronger.
Jason screamed this time. There was no stopping it. His body arched against the chains, shoulders screaming as the strain multiplied. His toes slipped, losing friction as his weight dragged fully against his wrists for a horrifying second.
The pain cut out. He sagged, gasping, lungs burning, arms trembling violently.
Joker watched him like a scientist observing a reaction.
“Now,” Joker said slightly, “that was controlled, well by me. Same voltage. Same duration. Clean. Efficient.” He crouched slightly, meeting Jason’s eye line. “But tell me, Jason, did it feel worse than the first one?”
Jason’s vision blurred. He forced it to focus. Refusing to answer him.Joker beamed. “I’ll take that as a yes! And that was because you didn’t know when it was coming.”
He stood again, strolling away, humming tunelessly. “And here’s the fun part,” he said, voice dropping just slightly. “I don’t even need the button.”
Jason frowned faintly.
Joker leaned in close again, smiling sharply. “Because now? You’ll feel it whenever I press it or not,” Joker lets out a manic laugh. Jason’s stomach twisted.
Joker straightened, clapping once more. “Let’s try something else!” He reached out and suddenly shoved Jason’s chest. Not hard. Just enough.
Jason’s balance broke instantly. His feet slipped fully off the ground, toes scraping uselessly as his entire weight yanked down on his wrists. White-hot pain exploded through his shoulders.
Jason roared, head snapping back as the chains rattled violently overhead, pulling him up. His arms burned, tendons screaming, vision tunneling.
Joker stepped back and watched.
Counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then he let Jason’s toes scrape back down, just barely catching enough friction to reduce the strain.
Jason collapsed into ragged breathing, sweat pouring freely now, arms shaking so badly he could barely keep himself upright.
Joker signed contentedly. “Unpredictable physical pain. No tools needed.”
Jason forced himself to lift his head, breathing hard. “You done?”
Joker’s smile faded.
“Oh,” he said, softly. “We’re just warming up.”
He leaned casually against the nearby table, folding his arms. “Tell me, Jason… how long do you think it’ll take before someone notices you’re gone?”
Jason didn’t answer.
Joker didn’t need him to.
“Batman?” Joker mused. “Always so busy. So many little birds to keep track of.” He tilted his head. “Though he does have that one who worries too much.”
Jason’s breath stuttered.
Joker’s eyes gleamed.
“There it is".
Jason clenched his jaw. “Don’t.”
“Oh, come on,” Joker said pleasantly. “I’m being gentle. Just conversation.”
He pushed off the table, strolling closer again. “She’s clever, isn’t she? Resourceful. Sharp. Always watching.”
Jason’s heart pounded hard enough to hurt.
Don’t react.
Joker circled him slowly. “I almost admire it. The way she slips through places she shouldn’t be. She almost caught me a few times. The way she looks at you like you’re something worth saving.”
Jason’s hands clenched reflexively, chains biting into already raw, bleeding skin.
Joker stopped in front of him.
“You didn’t think I would notice,” he said softly. "Did you?”
Jason’s voice came out rough. “You touch her-”
Joker laughed, sharp and delighted. “There it is! Anger! Took you long enough.” He leaned in close, eyes gleaming. “Relax. You’re not the punchline.”
Dread pooled in Jason’s stomach. “You’re the bait.”
Joker straightened, pressing the remote again. The shock was brief. Almost merciful.
Jason gasped, muscles jerking violently, breath tearing out of him. Joker watched him recover, expression thoughtful. “See, pain’s only interesting when it means something.”
He gestured vaguely between them. “This? This is tradition. Nostalgia.” Then he tapped Jason’s chest, right over his heart. “But she?” Joker grinned. “She’s new.”
Jason’s vision swam, fury and fear tangling dangerously in his chest. Joker stepped back, satisfied.
“We’ll talk more later,” he said cheerfully. “Right now, I want you tired.”
He flicked the light off again, but stayed. Jason could still hear him breathing in the dark.
Jason didn’t know how much time had passed.
That realization alone was enough to make his stomach turn.
He’d tried to count at first, breaths, heartbeat, the slow drip of sweat sliding down his spine, but pain distorted rhythm. Shocks came without a pattern. Weight shifts stole focus. At some point, numbers stopped lining up the way they should.
Time had gone soft around the edges.
Which was exactly what Joker wanted.
Jason didn’t hear the footsteps this time. That was how he knew he was losing ground. The darkness had been thick for a while, long enough that his eyes stopped trying to adjust. His arms burned with a deep, nauseating ache that had long since passed sharp pain and settled into something worse.
The light came back in without warning.
Jason flinched hard, shoulders screaming as his muscles spasmed at the sudden change.
His toes scraped against the floor, barely catching enough friction to keep his weight from fully dropping again.
Joker stood directly in front of him this time.
Close.
“Booh!” Joker’s laugh cut through the silence. “Round of applause! You’re doing great, Jason!”
Jason’s head lolled forward, breath shuddering. He forced it back up through sheer stubbornness, jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth ache.
Joker was holding something this time.
The crowbar hung loose in his grip, black paint chipped and darkened with old stains that Jason didn’t need help identifying. His stomach dropped. Joker circled slowly around him.
“Ah-ah,” Joker sang lightly, noticing the flicker of recognition. “Don’t go all nostalgic on me just yet. We’re making new memories.”
He strolled closer, humming off-key. “You know, people think this thing’s all about brute force. Smash,smash,smash.” He tapped the crowbar against his palm. “But that’s lazy.”
He stopped directly in front of Jason.
Without warning, Joker swung.
The crowbar struck his ribs, low and precise.
Jason gasped sharply as pain exploded through his side. His body jerked reflexively, his toes scraping frantically as his weight dropped and then was yanked back by the chains.
His wrist screamed.
Joker hummed, pleased. “See? It wasn’t that hard!”
Jason sucked in a ragged breath, vision tunneling. His arms shook violently now, muscles firing without coordination as his nervous system misfired under the overload.
“Controlled pain,” Joker said brightly. “That’s the theme today.”
He struck again.
Same spot.
Jason cried out this time, a raw, broken sound he couldn’t stop. His knees buckled, toes barely catching enough friction to keep him from fully hanging.
The crowbar pressed under his chin, lifting his face.
“Now, now,” Joker scolded gently. “Don’t faint on me. That’s rude.”
Jason’s jaw trembled as he tried to breathe through it. His hands twitched against the chains, fingers curling, then spasming open.
Joker’s eyes flicked to his hands instantly.
“What was that?” He let out a manic laugh. “Your body’s talking without asking you first.”
He stepped back and swung the crowbar again, this time at Jason’s thigh.
The impact sent a jolt of agony straight through his leg. His foot kicked out sharply. Jason shouted, breath tearing free of his lungs as his entire lower body spasmed.
Joker laughed so hard he had to steady himself against a crate.
“Oh, I love this part,” he wheezed. “The lost look in your eyes!”
Jason’s chest heaved. His vision swam. His muscles betrayed him in sharp, ugly bursts. Legs jerking, hands twitching, shoulder spasming as his nerves misfired under the strain.
He couldn’t stop it.
Joker circled him slowly again, the crowbar dragging lightly along the concrete.
Scrape.
Scrape.
“You know what exhaustion does?” Joker mused. “It strips away choice. Leaves you with reflexes and instinct.” He leaned in close. “And instincts are so easy to play with.”
Jason forced the words out through clenched teeth. “You…won’t get… what you want.”
Joker paused, then he laughed again, but this time quieter.
“Oh, Jason,” he said softly. “You still think you’re the point.”
He straightened and tapped the crowbar against Jason’s knee.
“Tell me,” Joker continued conversationally, “who do you think will panic more over this?”
Jason swallowed hard.
“A big bat that had you replaced in no time…” Joker tilted his head. “...Or the one person you keep trying to protect?"
Jason’s breath hitched, Joker’s smile widened.
He stepped back and struck Jason’s shoulder, harder this time.
Jason screamed, the sound ripping out of him as his body convulsed violently. His hands spasmed against the chains. He gasped for air, chest heaving, his arms shaking uncontrollably now.
Joker’s grin turned razor-sharp.
The blow came without warning.
Not a tease.
Not a measured strike.
The crowbar cracked across Jason’s face with a sickening, hollow sound.
His head snapped sideways violently, neck screaming as momentum tore through him. The world spun, light fracturing into useless shards as his teeth slammed together hard enough that he tasted blood instantly, metallic, thick, flooding his mouth.
The sound that ripped out of him was raw and broken, echoing off the walls before he even knew he’d made it.
“That’s the face!”Joker laughed.
Jason’s body reacted faster than his thoughts. His arms jerked violently against the chains, shoulders screaming as the sudden movement wrenched them past tolerance. He gagged, coughing wetly, head lolling forward. Blood dripped from his lip, warm against his chin.
Joker tilted his head, studying him like a piece of art. “You know,” he lectured, “everyone thinks it’s the body that breaks first.”
He tapped the crowbar against Jason’s jaw once. Not hard. Just enough.
“But it’s really orientation,” Joker continued. “Take away up and down. Take away control. The brain hates that.”
Jason’s vision swam. He tried to focus, to anchor himself to something real. He forced himself to breath through his nose, shallow and shaky. His jaw ached where it had been struck. His face throbbed in time with his pulse.
The next strike wasn’t to his jaw.
It was worse.
The crowbar came up fast and brutal, the flat end slamming across Jason’s face at an angle that clipped his cheekbone and smashed into his eye socket. Pain detonated behind his eyes, sharp and blinding, like glass shattering inside his skull.
He screamed again, this one strangled and panicked.
His vision collapsed into stars and red static. One eye burned white-hot, tears flooded instantly, blurring the little light remaining. His head snapped back, the chains snapping as his shoulders screamed in protest.
Joker hummed approvingly.
“Oooh,” he crooned. “That’s a sensitive one.”
Jason gagged, coughing, breath coming in broken gasps as his eyes throbbed relentlessly. He tried to blink it away, but it only made the pain worse, like grinding grit beneath his eyelid.
His body was betraying him again.
A sharp jerk ran through both arms. His fingers twitched violently, scraping against the metal as his weight shifted. His toes skidding as his knees buckled.
Tap. Scrape.
Jason clenched his jaw, forcing his breath to stay shallow, controlled. His eye pulsed with agony, vision uneven now, one side dim and smeared, the other too bright and too sharp.
Joker laughed loudly, stepping closer so Jason could see every wrinkle on his face. Joker lifted the crowbar again. “Now, here’s the fun part,” he said proudly. “You don’t get to choose when I hurt you. That’s my job!”
He tapped the crowbar once against Jason’s ribs. Not hard. A promise.
Then he stepped back.
“Sit tight.”
The light snapped off again, Joker leaving the room this time.
Jason sagged forward as much as the chains allowed, breath shuddering. His eye throbbed relentlessly now, swollen shut, vision reduced to smears and shadows. His wrists burned. His shoulders screamed. Every muscle in his body vibrated with exhaustion and shock.
And still his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Tiny tremors ran through his fingers. His grip flexed uselessly against the chains, scraping metal again and again in short, broken movements.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Pause.
Jason froze.
His chest tightened painfully,
No.
Another one followed.
Tap.
His breath caught hard in his throat.
The rhythm wasn’t clean. It wasn’t intentional.
But it was close enough that his brain latched onto it like a drowning man grabbing wreckage.
And suddenly, he wasn’t here anymore.
The roof of the abandoned auto shop raffled faintly under the weight of their boots, the humid Gotham night pressing down on them. At fifteen, they were old enough to know the streets, they learned that too soon, but young enough to feel invincible.
Jason crouched beside Y/n, legs pulled up against his chest. His hair clung wet to his forehead from the clammy summer night, droplets of sweat sliding down his face. He leaned closer, voice low.
“We’ve got eyes on us.”
Y/n followed his gaze. A man lingered down below, too tall to go unnoticed, coat too thick for the summer heat. Observant, patient.
“What do we do?” she whispered, not taking her eyes off the suspicious guy.
Jason grinned like it was a dare. “We communicate. Quietly.”
He tapped a knuckle against the metal railing.
Tap.Tap-tap. Pause. Tap.
Y/n squinted. “What’s that?”
“Code. Our code,” he said. “Just…ignore the patterns everyone else knows. We make it ours.”
She tiled her head. “Our code for what?”
“For everything. Cops. Muggers. Anyone listening. Just…for us. Only us.”
He showed her the rhythm again.
Tap.Tap-tap.Pause.Tap.
Y/n tried to mimic it. Her fingers didn’t land the same. He corrected her grip, thumb and forefinger, a subtle adjustment.
“It’s not just about the beat,” he said. “It’s about meaning, timing and placement,”
She rolled her eyes but leaned closer. “Fine. So what’s what?”
He shrugged, expression serious for once. “Not letters. Not numbers. Not anything obvious. Just…signals.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing in thought. “One tap? Means ‘move left.’ Two taps? ‘Move right.’ Three taps?’ Here. And the pause… pause means ‘watch out.’ Or ‘wait.’ It depends.”
Y/n frowned. “Depends on what?”
“Depends on what we need. Depends on what’s happening.” His grin returned, mischievous but sharp. “And,uh…if it’s really bad… you’ll just know.”
She laughed quietly, but there was a shiver under it. “So it’s a code with no fixed key. That’s kind of insane.”
Jason leaned back, letting the setting sun shine down on his face, the burnt-orange light making him look almost innocent. “Exactly. Insane enough that nobody else will get it.”
He tapped a short sequence.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap.Tap.
“Okay,” Y/n said, eyes narrowing, fingers itching to respond. “That could mean anything.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But someday, you’ll get it. You’ll know exactly what I mean without me telling you. That’s the point.”
Then, softer, almost a whisper: “Here. It means here. You know…right here with me. Not anywhere else.”
Y/n froze, heart catching. That one phrase, simple, ridiculous, ordinary, except that it wasn’t.
Jason gasped as the memory snapped apart.
Pain rushed back, his eye burning, wrists screaming, shoulders shaking. His breath came out ragged, chest heaving.
“Shit,” he whispered hoarsely.
His fingers twitched again.
Tap.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
“No,” he breathed. “No, no-”
But the memory had unlocked something his brain couldn’t ignore now.
The smell.
Oil. Rust. Old grease.
Auto grease.
Jason’s breath stuttered.
The echo, wrong before, suddenly made sense. The shape of the space. The way the sound bounced. The height of the ceiling. The chains bolted into reinforced steel beams.
His good eye widened. “Holy shit,” he murmured.
He dragged his toes weakly against the floor, feeling it clearly now, the uneven concrete. The familiar slope.
The autoshop. Abandoned now.
The one they used to steal from. The one they sold the same scraps out of back to. The one they’d hidden on the roof of, laughing and whispering. The place where they made up their own morse code, that nobody else would understand, just them.
Jason swallowed hard, throat burning.
Here.
Not metaphorical.
Not symbolic.
Here.
His fingers trembled again, small, but now his mind understood what his body was trying to say.
The autoshop hadn’t changed much in years, not really. Gotham forgot places like this slowly. They rotted, sank inward. Collected dust and ghosts. He could picture it now without trying, the exposed beams, the old hoist they never trusted, the cracked concrete floor with the shallow dip near the drain. The place where Y/n once slipped and swore that if he told anyone she would kill him.
A faint, painful smile tugged at his mouth.
Here, his brain echoed again.
Jason dragged in a slow breath though his nose, forcing himself to calm down. Panic would get him nowhere. Panic would make him loud. Sloppy.
And loud got you killed.
He tested his weight carefully, shifting just enough to ease the strain on his shoulders without making the chains rattle too much.
Tap.
He froze.
Idiot.
The sound echoed too much in his head, even if the room itself swallowed it. He stilled himself immediately, heart pounding.
“No more accidents,” he whispered to himself.
He needed control.
The Joker didn’t know he’d figured it out.
That mattered. That was leverage, thin and fragile leverage, but it was something.
Jason swallowed, jaw tightening.
Y/n, he thought fiercely. If anyone would catch it, it’s you.
She’d always noticed the small things. The things people missed. The way his hands moved when he was thinking. The rhythm he fell into when he was hurt, when he was nervous, when he was trying not to say something out loud.
And their code wasn’t neat. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t something you could write down and decode with a chart.
It lived in timing. In intent. In context.
Which meant it was useless unless you knew him.
Unless someone knew them.
He practiced it in his head first.
Not the pain. That part was unavoidable. No, he practiced control.
One movement looks like a spasm.
Two looks like weakness.
A pause looks like him trying not to pass out.
His hands shook no matter what he did. He stopped fighting it. Let the tremor exist. Learned its rhythm. Learned how much force it took to make metal whisper without screaming.
You only get one chance, he told himself. They have to see it.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Jason let his head drop immediately, chin slumping to his chest as he sagged into the chains. He loosened every muscle on purpose, shoulders dropping, knees bending just enough that his toes dragged softly against the floor.
Breathing shallow. Uneven.
The door creaked open. Light flooded in, harsh and white, stabbing through his closed eyelids. He kept them shut anyway, lashes pressed together hard, especially on the swollen side. He felt the room change with Joker’s presence. The air itself seemed to lean closer.
“Aww,” Joker sang. “Looks like somebody missed his beauty sleep.”
Jason didn’t react.
He felt Joker circle him once more, like a predator hunting his prey. Fingers snapped near his ear. A low chuckle.
Suddenly Jason hears a low hum, he looks up slightly.
A camera.
Its motor whined softly, louder than the chains. Jason felt it before he saw it, the shift in the atmosphere, the way Joker straightened, posture changing from tormentor to performer.
Joker stepped into frame.
Jason kept his head down, hair hanging into his face. He counted his breaths.
Three in. Two out. Don’t pass out.
“Well,well,well,” Joker drawled, voice syrup-thick and delighted, pitched perfectly for the lens. “Looks like the family’s all tuned in! I do love a reunion show.”
Jason’s jaw tightened.
They’re watching.
Behind Joker, chains creaked. Jason felt the vibration travel up his arms, through his shoulders, into his skull. He forced himself not to react, not to lift his head yet.
Joker clapped his hands once.
The sound cracked sharp enough to make Jason flinch despite himself, a reflex he cursed immediately. The audio would spike there, Barbara would notice that later. Joker always loved distortion.
“I know, I know,” Joker continued brightly, pacing just out of Jason’s peripheral vision. “You’re all worried sick about our mutual friend. So I thought I’d share the fun.”
Footsteps. Slow. Intentional.
Jason’s pulse hammered harder as Joker moved towards him,. The camera followed.
The lens dipped.
Focused.
His feet.
Bare.
Bruised, scraped raw, toes curling involuntarily against the cold concrete as his weight shifted. Blood smeared along the floor beneath them, footprints half-formed where he’d dragged himself back upright again and again.
Joker lingered there. Letting it sink in.
Then the camera began to rise.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Cruel.
Jason let his head hang heavy as the lens climbed, breath shallow, chest barely moving. Every bruise under his skin burned like a separate brand. One eye throbbed, half-swollen shut, the other glossy and unfocused. Blood dried dark along his hairline and mouth.
The camera reached his face.
“Don’t be shy, Jason!” Joker cooed, fingers tangling in his hair as he yanked his head up. Pain flared sharp and blinding, stars bursting behind his eyes as the lens locked onto his face. “Smile for the family.”
Jason coughed, harsh and wet, blood flecking his lips. He forced his head to stay up, forced himself to meet the camera head-on. Not Joker.
The lens.
She’s watching.
Don’t…” His voice came out raw, but steady enough to carry. “Don’t come for me.”
As the words left his mouth, his right hand jerked against the chain.
Tap-tap.
It looked like a tremor. Like pain.
“He wants you,” Jason rasped, swallowing thickly. “Not me.”
Pause.
The silence between movements stretched just long enough to matter.
His fingers struck again.
Tap.
A spasm rolled through his shoulders. His toes curled against the concrete, bare skin scraping as his knees threatened to give out. Joker barely noticed, too busy watching Jason’s face for fear, for begging.
His fingers moved again.
Tap-tap.
The chain rattles softly. Natural. Accidental.
“Don’t-” he tried. Joker yanked his hair tighter, cutting him off with a theatrical sigh. “Oh, don’t be dramatic, sunshine. You’ll ruin the surprise.”
Jason's fingers tapped one last time.
Tap.
He let his head lol forward as the Joker released him, letting his body sag, hands shaking violently now. He didn’t repeat the pattern. Couldn’t risk it.
One signal.
That was all he had.
“Oh, Batsy,” Joker purred, turning the camera back toward him. “You’re probably wondering what the rules are this time."
Jason focused on staying upright, slipping slightly in his own blood as Joker monologued. His vision tunneled, edges darkening.
"Simple!" Joker chirped. “You’ve got until sunrise.”
Jason counted heartbeats. Held onto consciousness with his teeth.
“After that,” Joker leaned close enough that the lens caught the cracks in his makeup, “let’s just say history repeats.”
“Don’t be late this time.”
The camera cut.
Darkness swallowed the room. Jason hung there, replaying the last minutes in his mind.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
He replayed it in his head over and over, clinging to the thought like a lifeline.
You know this, he thought fiercely, you always know.
Until sunrise.
The words landed heavier than any blow.
Jason didn’t react right away. He couldn’t afford to. His body wanted to, wanted to tense, to jerk, to give something away but he forced it down, locked it behind his teeth and bone.
Sunrise,
Not a day. Not a night.
An hour or two. Maybe three. Not enough time. Not enough time for a city-wide search. Not enough time for careful planning. Joker knew that. He always did.
Jason’s jaw clenched.
You don’t have that time, his mind supplied coldly. Neither do they.
That was the point. It wasn’t about killing him. It never was, he was bait, he made that clear from the beginning. It was about forcing a choice. Making Bruce run blind. Making Y/n run straight into a trap with her heart leading instead of her head.
Jason’s fingers curled weakly around the chain as the realization settles heavy in his chest.
Don’t come for me, he’d said.
Not because he wanted to die.
Because he didn’t want them broken again.
Joker hummed cheerfully, clearly pleased with himself, circling just out of Jason’s blurred field of vision. “Tick-tock, tick-tock,” he sing-songed. “Time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it, Jason?”
Jason’s jaw clenched. He tasted copper.
Hold it together. You’ve had worse.
Hadn’t he?
Footsteps sloshed.
Jason’s head lifted slightly, vision blurring as something cold splashed over his face and chest.
Water.
Ice-cold.
He gasped despite himself, body jerking violently as it soaked into his clothes, ran down his arms, pooled around his feet. The concrete sucked the heat straight out of him, cold biting deep into his bones.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Joker hummed. “I just thought you might need a freshen up!”
Jason sucked in a sharp breath, teeth chattering now, muscles betraying him. His heart hammered too fast, too loud, every nerve suddenly screaming.
Joker’s shadow fell over him again.
“Now,” he said lightly, almost conversational. “Let’s see if you’re still feeling…electric.”
The first jolt hit like a truck.
Jason’s back arched, a raw, broken sound ripping from his throat before he could stop it. Every muscle seized at once, limbs locking as pain tore through him, sharp and blinding and everywhere all at once.
He couldn’t breathe.
The world collapsed into light and noise.
The second shock came faster, crueler.
His vision fractured, spots bursting across his eyes as his teeth slammed together hard enough to make his skull ring. His wrists burned where the chains bit in, nerves firing wildly as his body fought a battle it couldn’t win.
Don’t black out.
Don’t!
He tried to focus, on Y/n’s laugh, on grease-stained hands and warm summer nights and tapping codes into rusted railings but the pain drowned it all out, relentless and merciless.
Joker laughed, manicly. “Still with me, Jason? You’re quieter than usual.”
The third shock was shorter.
Almost merciful.
Jason’s body went slack as soon as it ended, strength draining out of him all at once. His head fell forward, chin hitting his chest, breath coming in thin, ragged gasps.
He didn’t feel his feet anymore.
Didn’t feel anything but the echo of pain and the terrifying pull of darkness closing in around the edges of his vision.
Stay awake, he begged himself weakly. Just…stay…
Another splash of cold water hit his face, but it barely registered this time.
The world tilted.
Then it slipped.
Jason’s eyes rolled back as his knees finally gave out, body sagging hard against the restraints as unconsciousness took him.
The last thing he heard was Joker’s voice, amused and distant, dripping with sinister care.
“Let’s get you in a more comfortable position, shall we?”
And then there was nothing
++++
The vents shouldn’t have been this cold.
That was Y/n’s first thought as she slid on her stomach through the narrow metal shaft, elbows pulling her forward inch by careful inch. Gotham nights had a bite, sure, but the Wayne Manor ventilation systems felt like it was breathing winter straight through into her bones. Every exhale puffed white in front of her, clouding the narrow space
“Jason is gonna eat his words,” she muttered under her breath.
A screw scraped against her ribs as she moved. She hissed through her teeth and paused, letting the echo settle. Sound traveled in metal like gossip. One clatter too loud and…
Well. Worst case? Bruce Wayne personally throws her off the property.
She smirked, wouldn't be the first billionaire she annoyed.
A faint vibration hummed through the metal beneath her. Not the vent system’s usual rhythm, this was hers. The device strapped to her wrist blinked a pulsing green, looping a falsified feed into the manor’s security network. She’d spent two long weeks and countless curses creating it, for the scrap electronics she could find.
Worth it.
Jason had said, You’re not getting into the manor. Even I can’t without setting off five alarms.
And Y/n had heard what he meant:
Try me.
She never backed down from a challenge, especially one Jason smirked his way through. She followed the vent’s downward slope, carefully lowering herself. Soft light glowed below. And then..
A low thump.
A grunt.
Fists against heavy padding.
Training room.
She was close.
Y/n stopped just before the vent’s final grate, pulling her screwdriver from her boot. She’d studied this grate on the stolen blueprint, only to discover extra screws not listed anywhere.
Someone had upgraded security recently.
She smirked. Cute. Still not enough.
She began unscrewing the grate one bolt at a time, catching them in her palm to keep the noise down. Metal clinked faintly.
And suddenly her wrist device beeped.
Once.
Twice.
A sharp triple tone.
Her stomach dropped.
Motion sensors. East wing. Triggered.
“What? No, no, no” she whispered, tapping the screen.
The override she’d designed looped camera feeds and obscured heat signatures, but the East wing’s sensors must’ve been recently reinstalled. They weren’t connected to the central system yet, meaning her loop didn’t cover them.
Great.
Just great.
Somewhere below, muted footsteps shifted.
“Did you hear that?” a voice murmured. A voice she assumed to be Dick, Jason had talked about him a few times. The golden boy.
Y/n froze, her breath caught in her throat.
Another voice, deep, steady, unmistakable.
Bruce.
“East wing,” Bruce said quietly. “Motion detected.”
A beat.
Then, with the heavy exhaustion of a man too old for this, another voice crackled faintly through a comm line, dry, clipped, thoroughly unimpressed.
“For heaven’s sake… again?”
Y/n clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, Alfred she assumed. Jason had told her only positive things about him.
Alfred continued, tone flat with decades of patience, worn down. “Shall I assume it is yet another ambitious individual attempting to steal Master Bruce’s antique chess set? Or a teenager convinced the manor is haunted again?”
Bruce did not not sound amused. “We’ll check it.”
“Yes,” Alfred sighed, “because that always goes splendidly.”
Y/n whispered to herself. “Sorry, Alfred.”
She didn’t have long. She eased the grate open and slipped through, hanging briefly by her fingertips before dropping onto a support beam high above the mats. The air smelled faintly of sweat, leather, and chalk. Below, Dick attacked a training dummy with a sharp, precise rhythm. Bruce stood beside him, arms folded, expression carved from stone.
Neither of them looked up.
Good.
From here, she could see the entire space, the long mats, the tumbling rigs, the polished floors. Everything neat. Controlled. Designed for discipline.
“Something feels off,” Dick muttered, suddenly striking the dummy again.
Y/n froze.
Bruce lifted his gaze upward, scanning the rafters, the corners, the shadows.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She held her breath, body pressed tight to the beam. After a moment, Bruce looked away.
Dick cracked his neck. “Thought I heard something.”
“Your focus is drifting,” Bruce said. “Again.”
Dick rolled his eyes. “Maybe because it’s midnight, and I’ve been doing this since-”
He stopped.
Y/n’s heart slamming in her ears, Y/n pressed herself flatter, barely breathing.
The grate above her, the one she’d removed at the start, rattled faintly, likely settling in the draft.
Bruce’s head snapped up.
Dick’s eyes followed.
Y/n felt her stomach drop. No point in hiding now. She dropped.
She landed in a low crouch, palms on the mat, body absorbing the impact in a clean controlled roll. Her knee screamed, but she pushed through.
Dick stumbled backwards, eyes wide.
Bruce didn’t move at all.
Y/n raised both hands, half grin tugging at her bruised lip. “Uh…hi.”
Dick blinked. "Who-?"
But the way he froze wasn’t confusion. It was recognition. A flicker, just long enough for Y/n to catch it.
Y/n squinted at him, studying the shape of his jaw, the stance, the way he held tension in his shoulders. Familiar. Stupid familiar. Her brain scrambled through every person who’d ever cornered her in an alley. Every vigilante who’d ever cut her off mid-crime.
Then it hit.
“Oh,” she said slowly, pointing right at him. “You’re Nightwing.”
Dick’s reaction was instant and violently unconvincing.
“I..What…No.” His voice cracked so hard it echoed. “Why would you… why would you think… what…no…I’m not…that’s not.”
Y/n raised a brow. “Dude…you’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?!” he demanded, voice pitching even higher.
Bruce, without looking up, muttered, “Your tell.”
Dick whipped around. “I do not have a tell.”
Bruce just stared at him with the dead-eyed disappointment of a man who has absolutely had this argument before.
Y/n crossed her arms. “You fight the same.”
Dick’s eyes snapped back to her, wide and betrayed. “Fight? What do you mean? No. No. You’re mistaken. I move like a civilian. A completely normal, stable, unremarkable, tax-paxing civilian.
“That couldn't be further from the truth. Especially the stable part, anyone that chooses the vigilante life, is not stable.” Y/n quickly shot back, slightly tilting her head.
Bruce stared at him. “You don’t pay taxes either.”
“Not helping, Bruce!”
Y/n ignored their bickering, pointing straight at Dick. “The night near Bristol,” she said. “The townhouse with the stupid expensive wallpaper.”
Dick went still.
“You were wearing black with a blue symbol,” she continued. “and you flipped my knife like it was a fidget toy.”
Dick sucked in a breath so fast he choked on it.
Bruce’s head tilted with mild interest.
“That wasn’t-” Dick tried, voice strained. “That could have been…anyone.”
“Anyone with escrima sticks who steps out in the shadows like he’s posing for a magazine cover?” Y/n deadpanned.
Dick made a wounded noise. “I do NOT pose.”
Bruce mumbled, under his breath, “You pose.”
“I don’t!”
Y/n kept going. “You cornered me in the study, remember? I was unlocking that wall safe and you said-” her voice slipped into an exaggerated impression, “breaking and entering is a felony, you know.”
Dick paled.
“And then you followed me for half an hour through the rain,” she said, “ talking about Gotham’s moral decay and that I could make better life choices.”
Dick threw his hands up. “It was a conversation, not a lecture.”
“You were annoying,” she added
Dick huffed, the ghost of a laugh slipping through. “You threw a knife at my head.”
“You startled me.”
“You were robbing a house.
“Well,” she said, shrugging lightly, “we all have our hobbies.”
Bruce almost looked like he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose.
Dick cleared his throat. “Still, you shouldn’t assume things.”
“It wasn’t an assumption.”
His brows pulled together. “Oh?”
Bruce’s gaze flickered between them. “She’s observant. Very.”
Y/n shrugged. “I survive by watching people.”
Dick scrubbed a hand through his hair, completely undone. “Okay, hypothetically, hypothetically, if I were Nightwing, which I’m obviously not, how the hell would you recognize me? I wore a mask.”
“You stand the same,” she said simply. “And you tilt your head when you’re studying someone. Same as now.”
Dick froze like a glitch in a video game.
Bruce nodded once, impressed. “Good deduction.”
Dick turned, betrayed. “Could you stop praising her for exposing me?!”
Y/n bit back a laugh. “You should work on your poker face.”
“I’ve an excellent poker face.”
“You’re literally pouting.”
“I am not!”
Bruce’s voice cut through, low and sharp. “Y/n.”
Her smirk faltered. “You… know my face.”
“Jason told me enough.”
Okay. She was going to murder Jason later.
Dick’s eyebrows shot up, a sarcastic smile appeared on his face. “Jason knows girls?”
“I know, right? Such a shocker.” Y/n shot back instinctively.
Bruce’s nostrils flared. “How did you get in here?”
“Oh, you know…” She gestured vaguely upward. “Air ducts. Determination. Mild disregard for property laws.”
Dick looked impressed. “You broke into the Wayne Manor through the vents?”
“And got past the security system,” she corrected proudly.
Bruce’s brow dipped “Impossible. I upgraded that system myself.”
“Yeah,” she said, tapping the device on her wrist. “You should really look into patching the backdoor I found in your north camera network. That thing was an open invitation.”
Dick let out a low whistle. “She’s bold.” Y/n just smirked at him. “You’ve no idea.”
Bruce exhaled slowly, long suffering. “Why are you here?”
She straightened, brushing dust off her pants. “Jason said I couldn’t.”
Dick snorted.
Bruce closed his eyes like he was reconsidering every choice he’d ever made.
Y/n shrugged. “I like proving people wrong.” Dick grinned, stepping forward. “I like her.”
Before Y/n could reply, footsteps thundered down the hall.
Jason burst into the room, slightly out of breath, expression pure horror.
“YOU DIDN’T.”
Y/n smiled.
Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I said the manor was impossible, not that you should-”
“You dared me,” she corrected. “And now you owe me twenty bucks.”
Dick choked on a laugh. Bruce rubbed his temples. Jason pointed to the vents. “You could’ve died!”
She pointed back at the training equipment. “You train here with Bruce. I think I’ll survive.” Y/n said, turning herself to Bruce. “ Sorry, I know. Dumbass here, let it slip that you’re Batman.”
Jason looked like he wanted to dropkick her. Or hug her. Or both.
Instead he shot her a smile. Glad that she got inside safely. Glad that she hasn’t changed a bit, even after not seeing her as often as he would like.
She remembered that smile. God, she remembered it too well. The one that made everything in her stop for a heartbeat.
Warm.
Bright.
Stupidly soft around the edges in a way he didn’t give anyone else. The kind of smile that made her think. just for a second, that things could actually be okay.
And for a moment, the memory held. Whole. Untouched.
The training room still smells faintly of sweat and cologne. Bruce’s quiet disapproval hovered somewhere behind her.
Dick’s laugh bounced off the walls, amused and surprised.
It felt real.
But it never lasted long when Jason was involved.
The moment stretched, too still, too perfect, and something inside her flinched before she even understood why.
The edges of the room blurred first.
Not dramatically, just enough that her brain recognized the pattern before she consciously did.
Because this wasn’t new.
This shift, this slip, this tilting of a memory into something else, it had happened before. Her stomach dropped. Her heartbeat stuttered. Jason’s smile flickered.
Barely.
That was all it took. Her mind filled in the rest, uninvited and merciless. The warmth drained out of the room. The light changed. Colder, harsher. Dick’s laugh vanished. Bruce’s presence dissolved into static.
And Jason.
Jason changed the slowest, which somehow made it worse.The softness around his eyes sharpened. Color bled out of his skin. The curve of his lips collapsed.
She blinked, and the past folded violently into the other past, the one that never stopped replaying whether she wanted it or not.
Blood smeared along his cheek.
His eyes wide with panic.
Breath shaking, too fast, too thin.
The Joker’s video.
The first time she watched him die.
…And the second time.
Because the universe apparently liked patterns.
She’d known this feeling before. The sick, hollow drop in her chest, the sense of falling without moving. The night she’d seen the footage. The night she’d found out he came back. The night she realized he hadn’t really survived at all, not in the ways that mattered.
This, right here, was the second time she lost him.
Her memory of his smile didn’t just fade, no, it shattered under the weight of the image replacing it.
Jason hanging chained from the ceiling
Terrified.
Hurting.
Helpless in a way she had never, ever been able to forgive. And that was the thing that always gutted her. It wasn’t the shock. It wasn’t the horror.It was the familiarity. She’d seen that expression before.
She’d survived it once.
And now, watching the video’s ghost swallow the memory whole, she felt it happen again.
The warmth was gone. The boy she knew was gone. And all she could see, all she could feel, was that broken, desperate face. The face of someone she couldn’t save the first time.
A quiet truth settled in her bones, cold and absolute:
I’m losing him again.
The world didn’t return gently. It slammed back into motion all at once.
The Batcave lights weren’t as harsh as they felt, Y/n knew that, but her pupils constricted painfully anyway, dragging her out of the collapsing memory like she was being yanked out of an icy lake. Her breath caught hard in her chest, sharp and loud, echoing in her own ears until she forced herself to slow it down. In. Out. Again.
The real room came back in pieces.
Barbara’s fingers flying across the keyboard, the soft clacking unnervingly fast. Bruce pacing a tight line behind the main console, shoulders rigid, jaw set like brittle under pressure. Dick murmuring low into a comm, voice steady but clipped tone of someone who hasn't slept and wouldn't any time soon". Tim and Damian’s voices crackling faintly over the speakers, distant but sharp.
Alfred moved quietly between them all with quiet efficiency, offering water no one drank.
And behind it all, constant, inescapable.
The freeze-frame of Jason.
Bound. Bruised. Barely breathing.
Y/n swallowed hard, her throat tight enough that it hurt. For a few seconds she didn’t move at all, afraid that if she did, something in her would come undone in a way she couldn't fix.
Her body felt wrong, too heavy in some places, strangely hollow in others, like part of her had been left behind in her memory.
She forced herself to move anyway. One foot for the other.
She drifted toward the console with a numb, mechanical focus that made Dick glance over almost immediately. He didn’t call out at first. He just watched her, reading the way her shoulders were held too tight, the way her hands curled and uncurled at her sides like she didn’t trust them.
“Y/n?” he called quietly, sensing the shift.
She didn’t answer.
Not because she didn’t hear him, because her throat had closed around words that didn’t exist yet. Thoughts swarmed, overlapping and useless. If she spoke now, she was certain something broken would come out instead.
She stopped beside the console and stared at the screen. Jason’s head lolled forward, chin brushing his chest. One eye was swollen nearly shut. The other stared unfocused at nothing.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. They trembled once, just once, before she clenched them into a fist and forced the shake down through sheer will.
Bruce noticed. Of course he noticed.
He took a half-step toward her, stopped himself. His hands flexed at his sides before curling into fists again. He said nothing. His grief had made him careful around her, like he understood that even comfort could be a trigger right now.
Good. She didn’t want comfort. She wanted clarity.
“Barbara,” Y/n said, her voice hoarse. “Restart the broadcast.”
Barbara’s hands paused over the keys. She looked up, concern flashing across her face.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to watch it again. We already-”
“Just do it,” Y/n said, sharper than she meant to.
Dick shot her a worried look, but nodded to Barbara. “Run it. Slow it down if she asks.” Barbara tapped a few keys. The screen shifted. Static.
Joker’s laugh, distorted.
His pale face filled the lens.
And behind him.
Jason..
The world shrank to the image of him chained from the ceiling, every breath a struggle, every bruise a fresh injury that twisted her insides. His movements were so minimal it hurt to watch. Jason wasn’t still by nature, stillness meant agony.
Y/n dug nails into her palms but didn’t look away. Couldn’t. Her eyes traced every pixel. Every flicker of shadow, every breath that rattled in Jason’s chest. She knew this was the same footage they’d already seen. She knew studying it again wouldn’t reverse time.
Bruce stepped closer, arms crossed but face softer than usual. “What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
Then louder, “Play it at point-five speed.”
Barbara slowed it down. Joker’s motions stretched unnaturally, his laughter crawling through the speakers like something rotten. Jason’s head hung forward, until Joker grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked it up.
Y/n’s heart slammed against her ribs. She forced herself not to break, not to focus on the bruises or the blood in the white stripe of his hair or the way Jason’s legs twitched involuntarily.
Instead, she watched Jason.
Not the pain, not the injuries, but the tiny things.
The things only someone who’d known him as a kid, as a reckless teenager, as the boy who always mouthed off even when he shouldn’t, would notice.
She looked at his hands. By the way the chains had rubbed the skin of his wrists raw. At the way his right fingers tapped against the chain.
Then did it again.
Barely anything. But unmistakably deliberate.
Her pulse jumped.
“Pause it.
Barbara froze the frame. Dick leaned in, brows furrowed. "What? Did you see something?”
Y/n lifted a trembling hand toward the screen. “There. His hand. He’s tapping.”
Bruce’s head snapped toward the screen. “You’re certain?”
“He’s tapping a pattern,” she said. “He used to do that. When he wanted to tell me something without anyone else catching on.” Dick blinked. “What, like Morse code?”
“No,” Y/n said. “Like… Jason code.” Barbara zoomed in, grainy, but clear enough to see the minute jerks of Jason’s fingers.
Tap. Pause. Tap-tap. Long pause. Tap.
Her stomach dropped. “He’s spelling something,” she whispered. “But…it’s too fast. And he’s weak. The letters are muddled.” Dick’s jaw clenched. “But he’s trying.”
“He always tries,” Y/n whispered back.
Hours blurred.
The cave thrummered with coordinated urgency. Bruce stalked between computer stations. Dick deployed drones through half of the city. Tim and Damian swept rooftops on the opposite side of Gotham. Barbara sifted archives, city grids, old hideouts.
And Y/n watched.
The video. Over. And over. And over again.
Her eyes burned. Her head throbbed. Her chest felt carved out.
Dick came up behind her at some point. “You keep this up and you’re going to pass out.”
“I can’t stop,” she muttered. “We don’t have that time and neither does he.”
“Y/n,” he said softly, “why are you torturing yourself?”
“Because he’s talking to me.”
Dick froze.
“He wouldn’t tap unless it meant something,” she said, voice shaking. “He never tapped wrong. He never did it by accident.”
Barbara and Bruce exchanged a glance, one part uncertainty, one part dawning consideration. “So,” Dick said carefully, “this is your…code?”
“Yes,” Y/n whispered. “Ours.”
She hadn’t thought about that night in years.
Not clearly.
Not like this.
But exhaustion had a way of loosening memories and right now they slipped free like dust shaken off old shelves.
The memory dissolved like smoke.
Y/n blinked hard, the dim orange rooftop fading into the cold blue glow of the Batcave. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she stared at Jason’s barely-moving hand on the frozen screen.
Barbara slowly rewound the frame and played it again, frame for frame, each twitch magnified. Y/n leaned forward until her breath fogged the edge of the monitor.
“He’s trying to stay with the code,” she murmured, “but he’s too weak to keep the rhythm clean.”
Dick hovered behind her shoulder. “Meaning…what exactly?”
“It means that I need to figure out what he’s trying to do, not what he’s actually managing.”
She pressed a hand to her forehead. It was overheating. Or maybe she was. Her pulse thrummed with something between hope and dread.
“Look here.” She pointed. “That first tap? It could be single. Or it could be the first part of a double tap that he couldn’t finish.”
Bruce stepped closer, silent, watching every mirco-movement on the screen.
“And the pause?” Dick asked. Y/n shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s deliberate or if he’s…passing out for half a second between taps.”
Barbara frowned. “So we don’t even know how many taps he intended.”
“Exactly,” Y/n whispered. “He could be saying ‘left’. Or ‘right’
Her voice cracked. “Or he’s trying to say all of them but can’t get his body to cooperate.
It was hell. Watching him give everything he had left just to move a few fingers. Y/n leaned closer, studying the tremors in his hand, the tension in his tendons, the rhythm, broken but familiar.
“He’s not following the pattern exactly,” she murmured. “He’s modifying it.” Bruce titled his head. “Modifying how?”
“Back then,” she said slowly, “our code relied on clean beats. Clean pauses. That’s impossible for him right now. So he’s compensating.”
She swallowed hard.
Dick exhaled shakily. “Can you read it?” Y/n’s eyes stung. “I’m trying.”
Her gaze dragged across the screen again. Tap. Pause. Tap-tap. Long pause. Tap
“He’s mixing signals,” she whispered. “Not random, just messy. Like he’s trying to say three or four things at once, hoping one of them lands.”
“And what do you think he’s trying to say?” Barbara asked gently.
Y/n’s throat worked.
“I don’t know what he’s saying yet,” she admitted, “but I know what he’s trying to do.”
She pressed her fingertips lightly against the glass, tracing the tremor of his fingers.
“He’s talking to me,” she whispered. “Even now. Even like this.” She exhaled.
“Now I just need to figure out how many taps there really were. If that first one was single or double. If that pause was meant or if he blacked out. If the last tap is full stop or the start of another sequence he couldn’t finish.”
Her fingers curled against the console.
“He’s trying to tell me something. A place. A warning. A direction. Something.”
Y/n swallowed hard, eyes glued to Jason’s trembling hand.
“I just need to know what.”
She rewound.
Play.
Rewind.
Play.
Her eyes narrowed.
“One tap…or two.”
“Fast…or staggered.”
“A pause…or a slip.”
Her breath shuddered. Y/n stared at the screen, her vision narrowing until the edges of the Batcave disappeared. The only thing that existed was Jason’s hand, struggling, twitching, the faintest flex of fingers against the chains.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
The sequence repeated, each tap like a lifeline thrown across the void between her and him. She played it over and over, frame by frame, adjusting the speed until the movements were almost imperceptible, ghost like.
Her mind reached, grasped at the fragments, and tried to assemble them.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
It wasn’t perfect. His wrist trembled. His fingers shook with fatigue. The timing staggered slightly. But it was deliberate. Every twitch was intentional, every pause had meaning.
Y/n’s nails dug into her palms as she repeated the sequence out loud, whispering the taps, whispering the rhythm, trying to match it. Then it felt like a rope was strapped around her neck and yanked her back into her mind.
He tapped a short sequence. Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
Y/n’s leaned against the railing, sweating under the summer heat, listening to the city beneath them.
“Okay,” she said softly, eyes narrowing, fingers itching to tap back. “That could mean anything.”
Jason shrugged, half-grinning, half-serious. “Maybe. Maybe not. But someday, you’ll get it. You’ll know exactly what I mean without me telling you. That’s the point.”
She laughed quietly, a little sharp, a little nervous. “That’s cryptic, even for you.”
He leaned closer, voice low, almost a whisper. “Here. It means here. You know…right here with me. Not anywhere else.”
Y/n froze, heart catching in her chest. That one phrase. Simple, ridiculous, ordinary. And yet it was anything but ordinary.
“Right here,” she whispered under her breath, tracing the imaginary motion of his fingers in the air. “He meant right here with me.”
Her mind tumbled through possibilities. Places. Rooftops. Alleys. Anywhere they had been together. Anywhere that mattered. Anywhere he might want to anchor her to, even in a moment of terror like this.
She shook her head slightly, still fixated on the screen. Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. The rhythm was alive, insistent. Personal.
Barbara’s voice cut softly through the tension. “Y/n, what do you think he meant with here?”
Y/n didn’t look up. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I…I don’t know. Not entirely.” She swallowed, trying to calm the tremor in her chest, her sides starting to ache more and more. “But I’m convinced that’s what he meant. He’s trying to tell me something. Something only I would understand.”
Dick leaned closer, brushing her shoulder lightly. “So, any of ‘here’ would work? Like, any place that matters to both of you?”
Y/n shook her head slowly, but with certainty. “Yes and no. Some places matter more than others. Not all of them. He picked this one carefully. He wouldn't just tap it for anywhere.”
Bruce’s hands pressed into his face for a moment before he looked back up. “Then we need a list. Every place significant to the two of you. Every location that could possibly be…” He didn’t finish, but the implication was clear.
Barbara pulled up a city map on one of the secondary screens. She marked rooftops, alleys, abandoned warehouses, a few hideouts that had been Jason’s unofficial haunts over the years.
Time didn’t stop.
That was the cruelest part.
It kept moving, indifferent, sliding forward in quiet increments while they tore the city apart.
Minutes bled away in the Batcave, marked only by the steady appearance of red X’s and yellow flags blooming across Gotham’s map. Each one represented a location checked. Each one meant nothing.
Y/n stood rooted near the main console, shoulders tight, arms crossed over her chest, eyes burning from staring too long at too many screens. She could feel the dull ache in her ribs, sharp reminders every time she shifted her weight. Her shoulder throbbed faintly under the strain of holding herself upright, and the small cut along her cheek started itching as it dried and cracked. Every step, every lean, every movement reminded her she was broken.
She ignored it. She had to. It didn’t matter. Not right now. Not while Jason was alive, or trying to be.
The cave hummed around her, servers, monitors, distant machinery, a low, relentless pulse that made it impossible to forget that time was still passing.
Outside, somewhere far above them, the sky was changing.
It was subtle. Almost imperceptible. But Y/n felt it anyway, that quiet pressure shift in the air that came before dawn. The night was thinning.
Sunrise was coming.
Tim’s voice crackled through the comms, sharp and strained. “Warehouse district cleared. Nothing. No residual power strikes. No structural matches.”
“South docks are clean,” Dick reported seconds later, voice controlled but tight around the edges. “Too open. No enclosed ceiling supports strong enough for that chain rig.”
Damian cut in, irritation barely masking the worry underneath. “Abandoned subway spur is a dead end. No signs of recent activity.”
One by one, hope collapsed in on itself.
Y/n shifted slightly, ignoring the sharp stabs through her ribs. Her shoulder caught on the console’s edge, a flare of pain shooting down her arm, but she gritted her teeth and pressed forward. She couldn’t let anyone see how much it hurt.
Bruce stood behind the main console, hands braced against the metal edge, shoulders squared in a way Y/n recognized all too well. It wasn’t readiness. It was restraint. The kind that came from knowing exactly how much force you could unleash, and knowing that using it blindly would cost you everything.
Barbara’s fingers never stopped moving. She rerouted feeds, overlaid city schematics, pulled up old infrastructure reports. Her jaw was set, lips pressed thin, eyes flicking between data streams faster than most people could read.
“Nothing fits cleanly," she said quietly. “Joker’s hiding somewhere old. Somewhere forgotten.”
Forgotten.
Y/n swallowed hard, the movement twisted her ribs in protest. She pressed a hand to her side, holding herself still. She couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe in her panic. Not yet.
Her gaze drifted back to the paused footage on the central screen. Not Jason’s face, she couldn’t look at that again. Not right now. Instead, her eyes slid downward.
That dirty, concrete floor.
Her breath caught so sharply it hurt. The ache in her shoulders flared. She clenched her fist to hold it down.
Something about the floor tugged at her, insistent and wrong. Not the blood, Gotham had taught her that blood alone didn’t narrow anything down. It was the texture. The way the light caught unevenly across the surface. The shallow dip near where his toes scraped. The patchiness along one section that someone had obviously tried to hide.
“Barbara,” she said, voice sharp, though shaking from exhaustion and pain. “Zoom in. On the floor. Brighten it. Enhance texture.”
Barbara didn’t question it.
The image sharpened, pixels rearranging themselves into something clearer, harsher.
Cracks spiderwebbed through the concrete. Dark stains ground deep into the surface, old and layered, not fresh enough to belong to the moment alone. Rust flakes scattered unevenly, some pressed flat, others jagged and curled.
Then Y/n saw it.
A thin, raised seam, jagged and imperfect, running diagonally across the concrete like a scar.
They had tried to cover it. Someone, in a last attempt had poured fresh concrete over an old drain, to hide the floor’s true identity. Too thin in places. The surface mismatched slightly in color and texture. It wasn’t enough to fool anyone careful, anyone who knew the space intimately.
Y/n leaned closer, ignoring the stabbing pain in her ribs as she bent over the console. Her shoulder jabbed again. Her cheek stung. Her body protested in every way. But she didn’t care. Her eyes traced the seam, the slight offset in the patch. Recognition slammed into her.
“This floor,” she breathed. “They tried to cover the drain. Look at the seams, see how uneven it is? It’s intentional.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “‘Industrial.”
“Small,” she said. “Not a warehouse. Not a factory. Too low. Too cramped.”
Dick leaned in, following her line of sight. “Auto shop.”
Her breath shuddered.
“Yes.”
Memory flooded in whether she wanted it to or not, fragments layered over the present. That uneven drain, she tripped over and swore she would kill Jason if he told anyone. Jason’s laugh echoing off the metal walls. Grease-stained hands tapping against a rusted railing.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
Her voice dropped, rough with emotion. “He didn’t just want me to understand him. He wanted me to remember.”
Bruce straightened, something fierce and careful burning behind his eyes. “Where?”
“The abandoned auto shop on 9th,” Y/n said. “The one near the junkyard. Where we used to strip parts. Where he first taught me the taps.” Her throat worked. Her ribs burned with every swallow. “That’s where this started.”
Silence fell for half a second.
Then Bruce moved.
“Oracle,” he said sharply. “Cross-refrence abandoned auto shops within the industrial sector. Structural match priority. Ceiling beams capable of bearing weight.”
Barbara was already typing, screen shifting. “On it.”
Dick exhaled slowly, something sharp and hopeful cutting through the exhaustion. “He didn’t just want to calm us down,” he said. "He trusted you with his life.”
Y/n nodded, slightly taken back by the words Dick just spoke. He did trust her with his life and she owes him to keep him safe. He knew she’d look for him. And he knew she’d know the difference.
Outside, dawn crept closer.
But for the first time since the broadcast began, here finally meant something they could run toward.
Jason woke up to the wrong kind of touch.
Not hands.
Not warmth.
Something cold and familiar dragging along his cheek.
His breath stutters before he could even open his eyes. His body reacted faster than his mind, muscles tried to tense, to pull away, and immediately. Pain.
It crashed through him like a wave breaking against rocks. His spine locked. His shoulders screamed. His ribs flared hot and sharp, like something inside them shifted the wrong way. A sound rips out of his throat, rough and broken before he could stop it.
He gasped and his eyes flew open.
Green.
That’s the first thing he saw. Sickly, too bright, hovering just inches from his face.
“Well, there he is,” Joker croons, voice lilting with false affection. “I thought you were going to sleep through the whole encore. And where is the fun in that?”
Jason’s visions swim. The room titled nauseatingly, light and shadow blurring together before slowly, painfully settling. He tried to focus on the Joker’s face, but it took effort, like his eyes don’t quite want to cooperate.
The cold thing stroked his cheek again.
Metal.
A crowbar.
Joker dragged it down the side of Jason’s face with a mocking tenderness, the rounded edge traced over swollen skin, dried blood cracking slightly with the pressure.
Jason sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. His jaw trembled, anger flaring hot and instinctive, but his body felt wrong. Heavy, sluggish. Like it’s been rearranged without his permission.
Jason tried to move.
Tried being the operative word.
His body refused.
Something dug viciously into his chest when he shifted, biting down hard enough that his breath punched out of him in a strained, broken sound. His arms don’t budge. His legs twitched uselessly, feet scraping weakly against the concrete floor underneath him.
The realization hit him in fragments, assembling themselves slowly through the haze.
He’s sitting.
Not slumped. Not hanging.
Sitting upright and it’s wrong.
His heart rate spiked. He looked down as much as he could, neck stiff and screaming in protest.
That’s when he sees it.
The chair.
Heavy and industrial. Bolted straight into the floor, metal arms and reinforced legs. The kind of thing that doesn’t tip, doesn’t slide, doesn’t move unless whoever built it wanted it to.
And wrapped around him, barbed wire.
It coiled around his torso, biting into his ribs, crossing his chest in jagged lines. It dug into his shoulders, his arms, his thighs. Every sharp twist presses barbs into skin already bruised and torn, embedding themselves just enough that any movement is punished immediately.
Blood dots the wire in dark, sticky beads.
Jason goes very still.
“Ah-oh,” Joker laughed softly, delighted. “You noticed.”
Jason lifted his head slowly, every motion calculated now. His breathing is shallow, careful. Each inhale pulls at his ribs in a way that makes stars spark behind his eyes.
“You know,” Joker continued, leaning casually on the crowbar, “you really ruined the chair the first time.”
Jason’s fingers twitched. The barbs bit down harder, sharp enough that he hissed despite himself.
“Very nostalgic,” Joker continued. “I thought it might jog your memory. You always did like revisiting your greatest hits.”
“Go…to hell,” Jason rasped.
Joker beams. “Already booked a return trip.”
Without warning, the crowbar swung.
It strikes Jason’s shoulder.
The pain is immediate and catastrophic. His vision whites out. A scream tears from hm before he can stop it, raw and animal, his body jerking violently as the wire digs in, tearing skin, ripping breath from his lungs.
Joker laughed, loud and pleased.
“Oh,” he said. “Did that hurt?”
Another hit followed immediately.
This one caught his ribs.
Something cracked. Jason didn’t know if it was bone or just the illusion of it, but the pain was blinding, absolute. He gagged, vision going dark at the edge as his body convulsed against restraints refusing to give in.
The barbed wire shifted.
Bit deeper.
Joker hummed thoughtfully. “You know, I debated starting slowly. Really build the anticipation. But honestly?” He shrugged. “You look like you could use a warm-up.”
The crowbar struck again.
And again.
Not rhythmic. Not predictable. Joker varied the timing just enough to keep Jason from bracing, from preparing, from controlling the pain. Shoulder. Side. Thigh. Anywhere that would hurt but not end it.
Jason’s world narrowed to impact, breath and desperate effort to not scream, he couldn't give him that joy.
He bit down hard, tasting blood.
Joker leaned in closer between blows, voice almost gentle. “They aren’t coming, you know.”
Jason spat. It barely made it past his lips.
That earned him another strike, the one snapping his head sideways. Stars burst behind his eyes, his neck screaming in protest as the chair rattled beneath him.
“Ah-ah,” Joker chided. “Bad manners.”
Jason’s breathing broke apart, ragged and uneven. His body shook uncontrollably now, adrenaline burning through him even as strength drained away. Every nerve felt betrayed. Every muscle screamed to either fight or collapse, and he couldn’t do either.
“You really should stop hoping,” Joker continued, pacing lazily now, crowbar tapping against his palm. “Hope’s such a fragile little thing. Breaks so easily.”
The crowbar slammed into his knee.
Jason screamed.
There was no stopping it this time. The sound tore out of him raw and broken as his leg jerked uselessly, wire biting deep enough that he felt it tear. His vision swam, nausea rolling hard through his gut.
Joker straightened, satisfied. “Ah, it’s like music to my ears.”
Jason sagged forward as much as the restraints allowed, breath shuddering. His head hung for a second before Joker grabbed his chin, forcing his face up.
“You remember the last time?” Joker asked softly. “How long you waited?
Jason’s eyes burned.
“I remember how quiet it got,” he said fondly. “How you kept looking at the door, like somebody would come for you.”
The crowbar pressed against his chest, right over his heart.
“They looked,” Joker said. “Oh, they looked. Ran around. Made a mess. All very dramatic.”
He leans in again, face inches from Jason’s. “And they couldn’t find you.”
Jason’s breath hitches despite himself.
“Funny how that works,” Joker whispered. “You can scream and bleed and fight all you want, but if no one knows where to look…”
“Such a shame,” Joker whispered.
Then he hit him again.
Jason lost track of how many times after that.
Pain blurred together, each strike bleeding into the next until there was no clean beginning or end, just a constant, crushing assault that wore him down piece by piece. His body stopped trying to anticipate. Stopped trying to resist. It just absorbed.
Joker finally stepped back, breathing a little harder himself.
“Perfect,” he said cheerfully. “You’ll look amazing when the time comes.”
He glanced at the far wall, where faint light leaked through cracked boards. Morning, maybe. Or just another trick of time.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Joker added, already turning away. “I got a show to set up.”
His footsteps receded, laughter trailing behind him, leaving Jason alone with the aftermath.
The silence hurt worse than the noise.
Jason sagged in the chair, head lolling forward, body shaking with the aftershock. Every breath scraped. Every heartbeat echoed too loud in his ears. His thoughts came apart, slipping through his grasp no matter how hard he tried to hold on.
They’re not coming, a voice whispered.
His own.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Don’t.
The darkness pressed close, heavy and seductive. It would be so easy to let it take him. To stop fighting. To stop feeling
They don’t care about you.
As his mind tried to convince him that all hope is lost, he heard something it the distance.
Tap-tap.
Jason froze. Barely a sound, so faint he almost missed it.
Tap.
No. His heart pounding harder, panic spiking sharp and sudden. Hallucinations. Shock. That’s what it had to be, I finally lost it, he thought.
Tap-tap.
Tap.
His chest tightened, breath shuddering as hope crept in despite himself, fragile and terrifying. He shook his head weakly, a broken denial.
Not now. Not like this.
But the tapping came again, clearer this time.
Tap-tap.
Pause.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Tap.
Jason swallowed hard, eyes burning.
“...Y/n?” he whispered, barely sound at all.
Relief crashed into him so hard it hurt. Confusion followed close behind, fear tangling with it, because what if his mind is just itching for comfort as it unraveled?
Then once again the tapping started, like it was trying to convince him it was really there.
Steady. Unmistakable.
Their rhythm.
Not rushed. Not sloppy.
A broken laugh tears out of him, half sob, half disbelief. His eyes burn fiercely, vision blurring as emotion crashes though the numbness he’d wrapped himself in .
She’s here.
AAAH! The sweet boy.
I'm going to start uploading shorter stories between main story updates, so that you all are fed. Do you have a prompt or request? Let me know and I'll see what I can do! Let me know who, what and what genre you want it. Smut is allowed
Do you want to be on the taglist for any know updates? Let me know and you will be added 🩷
Or do you have a request or a question ? Always welcome
Or do you wanna show love or wanna beat me up for playing with your emotions? You know what button to hit 🤭😌
Taglist: @po0ki3 @thesleepiestpilot @powder-fell-down-a-well @keeperofhearts1 @f1wh0recom
The new chapter will be uploaded by end this week, sorry guys please forgive me
(THIS IS ME WRITING THIS CHAPTER)
Nothing like a red hood party!
Happy new year everyone!
I hope all your New Year’s Eves went well or celebrate that you don’t have to think about it for another year!
I’m sleep deprived, I have been cooking and socializing for way too long on little to no sleep. But i promised myself that I would release a new year’s fic as well, so here we are. I hope you like it because I lost my mind about it a bit, I had 2 friends read it and they liked it so that must be good, right?
Jason Todd x female reader
Masterlist
Ao3
Word count: 1.8k
New Year’s Eve always started the same way.
With a text from Jason.
It came in just after noon, when Y/N was standing in front of her closet in a silk robe, staring at a dress she had absolutely no emotional connection to.
Jason:
You doing anything tonight?
She snorted softly and typed back one-handed while holding the hanger up at arm’s length.
Y/N:
As much as I appreciate Bruce Wayne generously employing me, it unfortunately means I am legally obligated to attend whatever painfully expensive social event Gotham’s favorite billionaire playboy is hosting tonight.
A pause.
Jason:
Sounds like hell.
Y/N:
Black-tie hell. With champagne.
Jason:
You need backup?
She smiled at the screen despite herself.
Y/N:
Unless you’ve figured out how to blend into a room full of hedge fund managers and politicians without threatening anyone, I think I’m on my own.
Jason:
Disappointing.
Another pause.
Jason:
You want an excuse to leave?
Y/N:
Tempting. But Bruce already gave me that look when I tried to suggest skipping it.
Jason:
Ah. The Look™.
Y/N:
Exactly. I value my continued employment.
Jason:
Shame.
She tossed the phone onto her bed and finally committed to the dress. It was elegant. Black. Backless. The kind of thing that made people assume competence and mystery in equal measure.
The kind of thing she did not feel like wearing to a party full of strangers who talked about stock portfolios like they were personality traits.
+
Wayne Tower was exactly what you’d expect.
Glass. Light. Money.
The upper floors had been transformed into a polished version of Gotham’s idea of celebration, white and gold decorations, an orchestra tucked discreetly into one corner, servers weaving through the crowd with trays of champagne that probably cost more than her first apartment.
Y/N moved through it all with practiced ease.
Smile. Nod. Polite laugh. Deflect questions about Bruce’s “vision for the future.”
She was dressed the part, elegant black dress, hair pinned just right, makeup flawless. To anyone watching, she looked perfectly at home.
But her shoulders were tight. Her gaze never stayed in one place for long.
She clocked exits automatically. Noted security placements. Counted cameras without thinking.
Old habits didn’t disappear just because she was wearing heels.
Bruce stood near the center of the room, glass in hand, surrounded by donors and board members. His expression was calm, composed, billionaire playboy mode dialed in, but his eyes flicked to her more than once.
He caught her scanning the room.
Their gazes met.
His brow furrowed just slightly.
She lifted her glass in a tiny, innocent salute.
Relax, that look said.
She rolled her eyes and turned away.
Her phone buzzed.
Jason:
You still alive?
Y/N:
Physically? Yes. Spiritually? Hanging by a thread.
Jason:
Told you I could’ve staged something.
She smiled faintly, fingers hovering over the screen.
Y/N:
Don’t you dare.
Jason:
No promises.
She slipped the phone back into her clutch and turned toward the windows, the city stretched out beneath her in cold, glittering lines. Gotham looked honest from this height. No masks. No champagne flutes.
She was just starting to relax when it happened.
A scream.
Sharp. Panicked. Wrong.
Y/N stiffened instantly.
The orchestra faltered. Conversations died mid-sentence. Her pulse kicked up, adrenaline flooding in before conscious thought could catch up.
She turned toward the sound.
So did Bruce.
Their eyes met again, this time, no pretense.
You heard that too, his expression said.
I did, hers answered.
The second scream was closer.
And then the glass shattered.
Chaos erupted. Security rushed. Someone knocked into Y/N hard enough to jolt her sideways. She caught herself, heels skidding, heart pounding.
She didn’t intervene.
She watched.
She tracked movement. Counted attackers. Noted weapons. Calculated response times.
Bruce stayed where he was, already moving staff away from danger, his jaw tight with controlled fury.
And then.
The ceiling exploded.
Red Hood dropped in like gravity had personally wronged him.
The shift in the room was instant. Fear sharpened into shock. The attackers faltered, just long enough.
Jason didn’t waste the moment.
He moved with brutal precision, dismantling the threat in seconds. Every movement was deliberate. Efficient. Familiar in a way that made something tight in Y/N’s chest loosen even as it twisted.
She didn’t help.
She didn’t have to.
By the time G.C.P. D arrived, it was already over.
Bruce was furious, not at Jason, exactly, but at the situation. At the optics. At the timing. He slipped seamlessly into damage control, voice smooth, posture straightened, businessman back in place.
Y/N slipped away.
+
The rooftop was cold.
Wind whipped at her bare shoulders, biting through silk and adrenaline alike. She wrapped her arms around herself and paced once, twice.
Then boots hit concrete behind her.
“You’re gonna freeze.”
She turned.
Jason had already removed his helmet, breath fogging in the air, eyes bright in that way they got after a fight - alive, sharp, unrepentant.
She stared at him for a long second.
Then laughed.
A real laugh. Loud. Unfiltered.
“You crashed a Wayne Tower New Year’s Eve party.”
He shrugged. “Bad guys picked the wrong night.”
Bruce’s voice echoed faintly from below, irritated, clipped, unmistakably annoyed.
Jason winced. “He mad?”
“Oh, furious,” she said fondly. “But he’ll survive.”
They moved closer to the edge, sitting side by side. Fireworks were already starting, bursting in the distance.
“You know,” she said, glancing at him, “normal people would just… move on.”
He raised a brow. “From?”
“From me being bored at a party,” she said. “Normal people wouldn’t stage an intervention.”
“I didn’t stage it for you,” he said lightly.
The city roared below them, but up here it felt distant, muted. Jason sat close, not touching, but close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him.
The wind picked up.
She shivered before she could stop herself.
Jason noticed immediately.
He didn’t say anything.
Just reached up, shrugged off his jacket, and draped it over her shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She froze.
“Jason-”
“Don’t,” he murmured. “You’re cold.”
The jacket was heavy. Warm. It smelled like him, leather, gun oil, city air. His hands lingered just long enough to settle it properly, fingers brushing the edge of her collarbone, the contact brief but deliberate.
Her breath caught.
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
He nodded, already leaning back, giving her space again like he hadn’t just undone her.
Her eyes dropped, unintentionally, she told herself, to his mouth. Just for a second.
He noticed.
The air shifted.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them looked away.
Jason’s breath slowed, deliberate, like he was grounding himself. Like he was choosing not to close the distance. Because he wanted to. Wanted her. But every instinct in him whispered that he wasn’t… enough. Not for her. Not here. Not like this. Not without risking what they already had.
And Y/N, sharp as she was, felt it too. The pull. The possibility. But she hesitated, the same doubts, the same fear of ruining a friendship they’d both relied on.
Jason’s breath slowed, deliberate, like he was grounding himself. Like he was choosing not to close the distance.
The city noise swelled.
Voices echoed from somewhere far below.
“…Ten…”
She swallowed.
Jason turned his head slightly, not fully facing her, but close enough that she could feel his breath when he spoke.
“…Nine…”
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She was suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of space between them. How easily it could disappear.
“…Eight…”
She wondered what would happen if she leaned in.
If he would stop her.
Or meet her halfway.
“…Seven…”
His fingers flexed against the concrete. An unconscious tell.
“…Six…”
Her hand rested in her lap, curled into the sleeve of his jacket.
“…Five…”
Their knees brushed.
Neither of them pulled away.
“…Four…”
The city lights reflected in his eyes, bright and unreadable.
“…Three…”
She could feel the heat of him now. The closeness. The possibility.
“…Two…”
Jason exhaled slowly.
“…One…”
The sky exploded in color.
Fireworks burst overhead, loud and brilliant, the city erupting beneath them in sound and light.
Jason leaned forward just enough for his forehead to press against hers, a small, careful choice, a decision made without words. A light, fleeting touch, but electric in its intimacy. Warmth against cold. Steadiness against chaos. The unspoken everything between them.
Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, letting it linger. She felt him there, not the mask, not the fight, not the chaos, just Jason.
Neither pulled away. Neither spoke. They stayed like that, caught in the tension, the possibility, and everything neither was ready to name.
Finally, Jason exhaled, slow and deliberate, letting some of the tension drain from his shoulders.
“Happy New Year,” he whispered.
“Happy New Year,” she replied softly, her own breath mingling with his.
The fireworks faded, the city quieted, but they remained there, foreheads touching, caught in a shared warmth and the silent knowledge that this, this closeness, this tension, was only the beginning of what they could be.
Jason finally leaned back slightly, just enough to break the forehead contact, though the warmth between them lingered. His jacket still draped over her shoulders, a buffer and a promise all at once.
Y/N blinked up at him, a teasing tilt to her smile, but her voice was softer than usual. “So… you’re just going to leave me out here freezing the rest of the night?”
He gave a mock indignant sniff, one eyebrow arched. “Excuse me? I am providing thermal protection. That counts as… companionship, right?”
She scoffed, pretending to be annoyed, but her eyes were bright. “Huh? Generous. I should feel honored.”
Jason let a small grin slip, but there was a careful tension in the curve of his jaw. “You should. Consider it… a very exclusive service.”
She leaned slightly into the jacket, letting it fall just a little more snugly around her shoulders. “Hmm. Exclusive, you say? So… is this your subtle way of admitting you enjoy my company?”
Jason’s lips twitched, and for a fleeting second, the weight of all the words neither of them had said hung between them. “…Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t want to deal with anyone else tonight.”
Y/N tilted her head, a teasing sparkle in her eyes. “So… only me?”
“…For now,” he admitted, voice low, deliberate, teasing, but carrying an edge of something more serious underneath.
A pause. The city hummed beneath them. Fireworks were fading into the distance, leaving quiet echoes and smoke trails, but the tension between them hadn’t dissipated.
Y/N shifted slightly, brushing a hand along the edge of the jacket at her shoulder. “You know,” she murmured, teasing, “for all the chaos you caused tonight, I expected at least one champagne toast up here.”
His lips twitched into a soft, quiet laugh.
“Next time,” he murmured, eyes dark and warm, “maybe next year.”
Y/N smirked, nudging her shoulder slightly against his. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said, nudging his shoulder.
He let a quiet grin slip. “Next year, then.”
I promise next update is a continuation of the main story! Sorry for the long wait.
You likes, reblogs, comments are very well appreciated 🥰
Do you want to be on the taglist for any new updates? Let me know and you will be added 🩷
Or do you have a request or a question ? Always welcome
Or do you wanna show love or wanna beat me up for playing with your emotions? Send me a message 🤭😌
Taglist: @po0ki3 @thesleepiestpilot @powder-fell-down-a-well @keeperofhearts1 @f1wh0recom
hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii my favorite batfam author and dear friend
🥰🥰
Scream drabble
FNAF and seeing Matthew and Skeet together again got me back in my scream era. Sooo I wrote some drabble.
A/N - I had a thought, went with it and here’s your cake. It’s nothing special, just an idea I had. I do take requests and I do write smut so if you’ve got any, requests are open 🤭
TW; mentions of death, blood and weapons. Read at your own risk.
POV; reader knows the face or faces of the infamous ghost face and decides to out them for ruining her own revenge plan on Sydney.
Pairing - reader/ghostface (no mentions of name or Y/N)
Word count; 882
"Just go, Syd".
If it wasn't then and it wasn't me, it wasn't now. "He’s hunting you" I whispered, voice sharpe with no sign of fear "not me" a shadow stretched hauntingly beyond the hallway as I shove her towards the open door. "I'll distract him. Call the cops, ok?" Darkness awaited her and she made no efforts to look back.
I knew who it was.
I knew if it was one, then the other wasn't far behind. They were like falcons, they hunted in pairs.
I knew they liked playing games, the thrill of it - being seen and unseen, the waiting and making their own rules. So, if they wanted to play, we will play.
I burst into Sydney's room, jamming her closet door hard against the door of her bedroom, buying myself seconds, a few precious seconds to hide. I slipped into the closet, the shadows of her clothes, old toys and memories swallowing me whole. The door flew open, wood shrieking against wood. Footsteps rushed in, a black figure with only a hint of white surged forward, knife raised with promise of blood.
His back turned and that was my moment, I slid out of closet, vanishing into another spot of darkness, an eerie laugh slipped from my throat as I ran past him, playfully, almost inhuman.
I was a ghost and he was my own killer.
Out the corner of my eye a small, white voice box lingered in the doors threshold. My fingers slid across the cold floor, smooth and deliberate. The air was thick with anticipation, as the hunter crouched to peer under the bed. I bolted out the room and towards the staircase, laughter spilling from my mouth with a dark distorted melody, laced with madness. I knew Sydney would have already called the cops, time was slipping away, I was limited.
Heavy footsteps thumped above, but a presence was felt around me. "I hope you can hear me" I said into the box. The footsteps came to a sudden holt. "You aren't going to find me up there, but you already knew that, right? Trick me into thinking you're still looking for me while the other sneaks up behind me" I spun around suddenly, coming face to face with a man who was known as Ghostface.
"Soooo.." I purred with playful malice "which one do I have here?". We began circling each other like two duelling gunslingers. The movement was a dance, a calculated rhythm that gave me the opportunity to study them, their mannerisms, how they shifted, breathed or how the slightest twitch of nervousness betrayed them when I spoke. "Wait wait" I teased "Let me guess your favourite scary movie". His head tilted to one side, listening with intent, his mask barely concealing his curiosity.
"I'd say Stab, but that's too obvious" our footsteps moved in unison against the creaking floor, though his steps had a slight clumsy edge. I leaned in just a bit closer, smirking as I say "Pys-no, wait...I know those uncoordinated steps anywhere." My grin grew wider "Terror train!" The tension was thick as I knew I had guessed correctly.
A shift on the wooden floorboard came from behind me and I knew I had them both. "You wouldn't kill your favourite girl, would you, Stu?" I whispered, my voice a playful tremor. I bite my fingernail seductively, drawing his gaze.
My eyes locked with his and the darkened mesh that swallowed them. "How about you, Billy? Could you really bring yourself to kill me?" I allowed a smile, just enough to send a chill as I looked back at the other man.
The knives dropped to their sides, but their disguises remained. "Tonight was supposed to be my night" I spat, the words slicing through the air like a whip. "I was supposed to kill Sydney Prescott, but you ruined it" my voice cracked at the end, a sharpe frustrated bite, like a childish rebellion. "The police will be here soon" I say, voice flat, almost bored. My eyes never leaving my perfectly manicured nails.
"If you're really going to kill Sydney, then you're going to need help. Now go, before the cops get here”.
Without hesitation, I reached out. My fingers closing around Billy's leather clad hand that held his knife. The pain was sharpe and sudden but I didn't flinch, blood oozed out my palm, it was a deliberately cut.
The red and blue lights projected around the house, flashing like a heartbeat, pulsing like my palm. The sirens wailed in the distance, an eerie symphony of the chaos that'll unfold. My leg dragged behind me, a limp anchoring my every step.
I was putting on a show.
The cool night breeze hit my skin like a stinging slap, but before I could take a breath a gun aimed directly at me with a harsh click. "Hands up, now" the voice commanded with a growl. I froze, the beam of a flashlight cutting through the dark blinded me. Then, a familiar voice - Office Dewey. His voice strained, barely audible. "Oh god...oh god..are you ok?" He asked in disbelief.
I nodded in response, slow and heavy. I had lost my voice but managed to choke out "he's not in the house anymore, he ran out back".
Page divider was found on @lunardividers.
Image found on Google
@tunnel-snakesss-rule @cookiemonstermusic258 @thesleepiestpilot @powder-fell-down-a-well
Don’t fear, Christmas with the batfam is here.
Merry Christmas you filthy animals, or happy holidays or happy Thursday!
Let’s take a break from all the hardships and celebrate Christmas with one of the strangest, dysfunctional familie we know.
It’s almost 4am here but I wanted to release a Christmas special! I wrote this on my phone, so excuse me if there are mistakes!
Jason Todd x female reader
master list
Ao3
Word count: 2.4K
Y/n was sprawled sideways across her couch, one sock missing, phone balanced precariously on her stomach, when she did what she did every year without fail.
She opened the Batfam group chat.
The name had changed over the years to No Capes, Just Problems, but right now it was simply labeled Christmas. Barbara had changed it sometime after Thanksgiving and no one had fought her on it.
Y/n scrolled just long enough to make sure no one had already beaten her to it, then grinned and sent the gif.
Phoebe from Friends, aggressively cheerful:
“HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVE EVE!”
She didn’t even have time to lock her phone before the responses started rolling in.
Dick:
🎄🎉 FINALLY SOMEONE SAID IT 🎉🎄
I’ve been waiting ALL DAY.
Barbara:
I knew this was coming.
Also Dick, it’s 9:07 AM.
Dick:
AND YET I WAS READY.
Tim:
Statistically, “Christmas Eve Eve” is not a real holiday.
Y/n:
Statistically, neither is whatever sleep schedule you’re on.
Tim:
…fair.
A moment later:
Stephanie:
I BROUGHT COOKIES FOR TOMORROW AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME.
Damian:
Christmas is inefficient. Excessive decoration. Unnecessary sentimentality.
Dick:
Wow. You sound just like Bruce.
Bruce:
…
Y/n:
Blink twice if Dick stole your phone, Bruce.
Alfred:
I can assure you, Miss Y/n, Master Bruce typed that ellipsis himself.
Duke:
That’s somehow worse.
Cass:
🎄🤗.
Barbara:
Cass has officially said more than Bruce.
Bruce:
I like Christmas.
A beat.
Dick:
LIAR.
Stephanie:
PHOTO OR IT DIDN’T HAPPEN.
Y/n:
Bruce Wayne enjoying Christmas is my favorite urban legend.
The chat devolved into chaos the way it always did. Dick spamming photos of ugly sweaters, Steph demanding gift hints, Tim reminding everyone again that he did not want another mug, Damian arguing with Alfred about the “true meaning” of Christmas as if it were a tactical debate.
Y/n smiled at her phone, thumb hovering over the screen as she scanned the list of names.
Bruce. Alfred. Dick. Barbara. Tim. Damian. Duke. Cass. Steph.
Jason.
No reply.
She frowned slightly, scrolling back to check if she’d missed it. Nothing. No thumbs-up. No sarcastic comment.
Jason wasn’t big on group chats, he muted most of them, but he always reacted to her messages. Even if it was just a single dot. Even if it was a stupid meme response five hours later at 3 a.m.
She stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary.
Then she exhaled, shook her head, and locked her phone.
Don’t read into it, she told herself.
It’s Jason. He’s probably brooding. Or asleep. Or both.
She went back to wrapping presents.
-
Wayne Manor looked like something out of a magazine. All warm lights and wreaths and garlands, snow-dusted windows glowing gold against the grey Gotham morning.
Y/n stood on the front steps with an armful of gift bags and a tote slung over her shoulder, adjusting her grip before Alfred opened the door.
“Miss Y/n,” he greeted warmly, eyes crinkling. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” she echoed, smiling. “You look criminally well-rested.”
“Years of practice,” Alfred said smoothly, ushering her inside. “May I take those?”
“Yes, please, before my arms fall off and I sue.”
The manor was alive in a way it rarely was, laughter echoing from the sitting room, music playing softly somewhere down the hall, the smell of coffee and cinnamon and something baking drifting through the air.
Dick was the first to spot her.
“Y/n!” he called, already moving. He nearly tackled her into a hug, nearly knocking one of the remaining bags from her hands. “You made it!”
“Unfortunately,” she deadpanned, hugging him back anyway. “I was hoping the snowstorm would take me out.”
“You’re terrible,” he laughed, stepping aside. “Come in, everyone’s here.”
She stepped inside, greeted by warmth and noise and the overwhelming sight of the manor in full holiday mode. A massive tree dominated the main room, lit up like Gotham hadn’t existed for a day. Stockings hung along the mantle, yes, including one with a tiny embroidered bat symbol.
She started mentally checking faces.
Bruce stood near the fireplace, mug in hand, speaking quietly with Alfred. Tim was half-buried in wrapping paper on the couch. Stephanie and Duke were arguing over who stole whose ornament. Cass sat cross-legged on the rug, methodically sorting bows by color. Damian lurked near the tree like it might attack him.
Bruce inclined his head. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Bruce,” she said easily.
And then, almost without meaning to, she looked around again.
Counted.
Once. Twice.
Her smile faltered.
“…Where’s Jason?” she asked.
The room shifted.
It was subtle, but she felt it immediately, the way Dick’s grin dimmed just a fraction, the way Barbara’s eyes flicked toward Bruce, the way Alfred’s hands stilled for half a second.
Dick scratched the back of his neck. “Uh. We… don’t actually know.”
Her stomach sank.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“He didn’t come by,” Barbara said gently. “Didn’t answer texts. He wasn’t at his place last night either, but his bike’s there. He’s… fine. Probably.”
“Probably,” Y/n repeated flatly.
Bruce spoke next, voice even. “He didn’t indicate he wanted to attend.”
Y/n stared at him.
“That’s not an answer,” she said.
Bruce met her gaze, something complicated flickering there. “No. It’s not.”
She exhaled slowly, set the gift bags down by the tree.
“I’ll be back,” she said.
Dick stepped forward. “Hey, you don’t have to-”
“I know,” she interrupted softly. “But I want to.”
No one argued.
They all knew better.
It took her two places and a bad feeling before she found him.
Not at the manor. Not in one of his safehouses. But at an old rooftop he liked, one with a broken ledge and a view of the city that made Gotham look almost peaceful if you squinted.
Jason was sitting on the edge, boots dangling over open air, jacket pulled tight around him. No helmet. Hood up. A thermos by his side that was definitely not festive.
He didn’t look surprised when she climbed up behind him.
“Took you long enough,” he said.
She stopped a few feet away. Crossed her arms.
“You know,” Y/n said, tilting her head, looking at the back of his head, “most people ghost dates, not Christmas.”
Jason didn’t look up. “Didn’t realize I RSVP’d.”
She crossed her arms. “You didn’t show. You didn’t text. You didn’t even send a snarky ‘holidays are fake’ message.”
“Consider it character growth.”
She waited.
Jason exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“And yet,” she said, “here I am. Festive. Concerned. Annoyingly persistent.”
He finally looked at her then.
His eyes softened for just a second.
Then the walls slammed back into place.
“I’m not going,” he said flatly.
“Didn’t ask.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Okay,” she conceded. “I implied.”
Silence stretched.
Then Jason stood abruptly, pacing once, then twice. “I can’t do it, alright? I can’t sit in a room pretending we’re this… happy, functional thing.”
Y/n watched him carefully. Didn’t interrupt.
“Everyone laughing. Smiling. Acting like the past doesn’t exist.” His voice roughened. “I’m not good at pretending.”
She tilted her head. “Since when?”
He huffed a humorless laugh. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because this time it’s supposed to mean something.”
There it was.
Y/n stepped closer, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to perform.”
Jason shook his head. “That’s the whole point. Christmas is just… pressure. To be okay. To forgive. To forget.”
“And you don’t want to.”
“I can’t,” he snapped, then immediately winced. “I’m not there.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
That caught him off guard.
“That’s it?” he asked. “No pep talk? No ‘but family’ speech?”
Y/n shrugged. “Jason, this family is a mess. We all know that. No one’s expecting a Hallmark movie.”
He stared at her.
“You think Dick doesn’t know this is chaos?” she continued. “You think Bruce doesn’t wake up every day painfully aware that we’re all held together by duct tape and unresolved trauma?”
A corner of his mouth twitched.
“You don’t have to be happy,” she said gently. “You just have to be you.”
Jason looked away.
“I don’t want to ruin it.”
She scoffed. “Oh please. Damian already tried to weaponize the tinsel.”
That got a real laugh.
Small. Brief.
But real.
Y/n held out her hand. “Come on. You don’t have to stay long. We’ll leave whenever you want.”
He hesitated.
Then, slowly, he took her hand.
Jason doesn’t let go of her hand all the way back.
He loosens his grip when they reach the manor grounds, fingers slipping but not entirely retreating, like he’s reminding himself that he can still choose to leave. Y/N doesn’t comment on it. She just adjusts her pace to match his, steady and unassuming.
Inside, the noise hits them immediately.
Laughter. Music. The clink of mugs. Someone,probably Dick, nearly knocking something over.
Jason pauses in the doorway.
Y/N feels it before she sees it. The tension in his shoulders, the instinctive calculation behind his eyes. Fight-or-flight, Gotham-style. She gives his hand a quick squeeze. Nothing dramatic. Just there.
“I’ve got you,” she murmurs, like it’s nothing. Like it’s obvious.
Jason exhales, slow. Then he steps forward.
Dick sees them first.
His face lights up like someone just flipped a switch. “Oh my god. He lives.”
Jason rolls his eyes. “Miss me?”
“Every day,” Dick says dramatically, then reins himself in when he catches Jason’s expression. Softer, now. “Merry Christmas, man.”
“…Merry Christmas,” Jason replies, voice rough but real.
The room doesn’t explode into questions. No one crowds him. No one makes a big deal out of it. Bruce inclines his head. Alfred’s smile deepens. Barbara offers a small wave from the couch. Cass gives him a look that says I see you without saying a word.
Y/N clocks it all, stores it away.
Good. They’re giving him space.
Gift exchange happens naturally, the way it always does, messy, loud, overlapping.
Steph insists on going first. Duke heckles. Damian critiques wrapping paper like it’s a personal insult. Tim looks mildly stressed until he opens something and visibly relaxes. Bruce pretends he doesn’t like anything and then keeps it anyway.
Y/N hands gifts out steadily, trading snark for hugs, laughter for eye rolls. She feels lighter than she expected to. Maybe because Jason is still here. Maybe because she stopped trying to control how the day should look.
Eventually, the pile dwindles.
Only one gift remains.
Jason notices before she says anything.
He stiffens slightly, eyes flicking to the small package in her hands. It’s not flashy. No bow. Just brown paper, edges carefully folded, tied with simple twine.
Y/N clears her throat.
“Okay,” she says, voice deliberately casual. “Last one.”
A few heads turn.
Jason groans quietly. “You didn’t have to-”
“I did,” she cuts in, not unkindly. “Also, you don’t get to opt out after rooftop therapy.”
Dick perks up. “Ohhh, saved for last. That’s never ominous.”
Y/N ignores him and steps closer to Jason.
“For you,” she says simply, holding it out.
Jason hesitates.
Then he takes it.
His fingers are careful with the paper, like he’s bracing for something heavier than it looks. He unties the twine slowly, peels the paper back.
A book.
He blinks.
Pride and Prejudice.
Not a new copy, he could tell immediately. The cover was worn soft at the edges, spine creased just enough to say it had been read more than once. Loved, even.
Jason stared at it for a long second, then looked up at her. “You’re kidding,” he murmured.
Y/N scratched at the back of her neck. “Before you say anything—”
He looked up sharply. “Where did you get this?”
She blinked, a little surprised by the intensity in his voice. “Uh. My apartment.”
That stopped him.
“What?”
She shrugged. “I was digging through an old box. One of those ‘I’ll deal with this later’ boxes that you keep moving from closet to closet until you forget what’s even in it.”
The room had gone quiet again, but Y/N didn’t seem to notice.
“I found it tucked under a bunch of old notebooks and junk,” she continued.
She shrugged, suddenly a little self-conscious. “I figured… you might like it.”
His thumb brushed the edge of the cover, then the spine. He opened it without thinking, pages falling naturally to a familiar spot. He stopped when he saw the bent corner.
His breath left him in a slow, almost disbelieving exhale.
“You kept this,” he said.
“I didn’t even realize I still had it,” she replied. “But when I saw it, I thought of you.”
Jason let out a short, quiet laugh. “Of course you did.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That didn’t sound insulting enough.”
He shook his head. “Nah. Just… fitting.”
The room kept moving around them, wrapping paper rustling, voices overlapping, but Jason’s focus stayed on the book in his hands. He traced the dog-eared page once, thoughtfully.
He looks at her then. Really looks at her.
“Thank you,” he says.
It’s simple. Unguarded.
The room stays quiet for half a second longer than usual.
Then Dick claps once. Loud. “Okay. Wow, that’s- “
“Don’t,” Jason warned, but there was no heat behind it.
Dick grinned anyway. “I was gonna say ‘cute.’”
Jason flipped him off without looking.
The moment breaks.
Jason huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re all impossible.”
“But festive,” Y/N adds.
He glances down at the book again. Holds it a little tighter.
Later, much later, when the wrapping paper has been cleared and the room has settled into that comfortable, post-chaos lull, Jason ends up on the couch with the book open on his knee.
He’s not reading yet.
Just… holding it.
“Thank you,” he said again. This time it landed heavier.
She smiled, small and real. “I thought… if anyone would get it, it’d be you.”
He nodded once.
“Merry Christmas, Jason.” She gave him a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, flashing a soft smile.
“Merry Christmas, Y/n.” Jason said under his breath, barely audible but enough for her to hear.
He watched her walk away, the book warm under his hands, the manor humming quietly around him.
And later, when the house grew quieter and the chaos softened into something warm and manageable, Y/N caught sight of him again, sitting off to the side, book open in his hands, thumb resting right where the page bent.
Not pretending.
Just here.
You likes, reblogs, comments are very well 🥰
Do you want to be on the taglist for any know updates? Let me know and you will be added 🩷
Or do you have a request or a question ? Always welcome
Or do you wanna show love or wanna beat me up for playing with your emotions? Send me a message 🤭😌
Taglist: @po0ki3 @thesleepiestpilot @powder-fell-down-a-well @keeperofhearts1 @f1wh0recom
Might be a small delay in the new chapter of Just friends? I’ve dislocated my knee during my trip, it does that from time to time 🥴 but sitting down and writing for hours won’t do. So sorry!!! You won’t be left completely empty handed, no worries ❤️
Please post chapter 4! Im actually loosing my mind thinking about whats going to happen💗
I will!! No worries! It might take a little longer because I’ve been very busy and I’m traveling to a different country next week. But I promise it will be here before Christmas!! Thank you for liking it and letting me know!! Don’t lose it completely just yet 😉😌🩷
