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✦ eros ✦ they/them | 18+ | under-making ! dc brainrot enthusiast ⋆˚✧ felicia, jason, barry kisser ♡
credits felicia pngs from @forfeliciahardy
🐈⬛ ┆eros ,cerice — she/her ִ ࣪𖤐 ˖ ✦ infp 𓂃 𝜗𝜚 writer. artist ?!
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THE SPIDERS WEB, FIC BY SAILORSTARS100
Gift for @sailorstars100 💖
i loved your fic so much, thank you for letting me make this teehee 😭 let me know if you want any changes!! i rushed a little with this :(
[ ✸ Under his heart with you ✸ - JASON TODD X G.N Reader (Under the redhood au) ] 0.1
✸ Under his heart with you ✸ - JASON TODD X G.N Reader (Under the red hood au)
CHAPTER 1 ── you meet the past, and maybe your past again.
Word Count: 7,200 words
Synopsis: He played two cruel jokes. One was your “death.” The other was his you remember that day too well, the way it burned into you, the way it never really ended. he died. Jason Todd. Maybe the only person you ever loved. that’s the story, isn’t it? the punchline everyone believes. That he died. but the real joke the crueler one was you. Pulled from icy waters by a creature that wasn't supposed to exist, you survive with more than just scars. A god lives in your ribs now. thank the joker, You leave Wayne Manor, your grief, and Bruce's moral code behind, building a new life in Gotham's shadows with only your jellyfish-"your children" for company. Two years later, a man in a red helmet intervenes during a hit. He fights like Jason. He stands like Jason. in a way...?
Content Warning: Major character death (Jason Todd), graphic violence, torture (referenced), drowning, asphyxiation, suicidal ideation, body horror, blood/gore, murder, revenge fantasies, parental grief, trauma responses, emotional breakdowns, consumption of humans (by creatures), dissociation.
A/N: i originally wanted to do a normal reader, lol, but then i had a suggestion and we ended up flipping a coin… and somehow landed on jellyfish powers 😭 this is kind of sad but also funny. this is my first fic here, so i’m kinda nervous! also, sorry if it's bad.
Life’s full of shit.
You don’t even say it out loud anymore, you just carry it, like a second spine, like something threaded through your ribs that won’t let you stand straight.
It had only been a week.
One week since that red-helmeted bastard, since decided to crash into your life like he belonged there
Because this wasn't the first time. You'd noticed it about a year ago or two… Small things, at first. A shadow that didn't belong. The feeling of being watched on nights when the alleys were too quiet. A shot that took out a man who'd had a knife to your throat before you could even react.
This man made sure, Death won't even think about you even once, in a way.
You'd dismissed it at first. Coincidence. Gotham was full of violent people with their own agendas.
But then it happened again.
And again.
And again.
He was following you.
It was never close enough to confront. Bodies dropping before they could touch you, taken out with clinical precision by someone who never stayed long enough to explain himself.
You'd tried to catch him. Multiple times.
Changed your routes. Doubled back. Set traps. Used your children to sweep rooftops.
Nothing.
He was always one step ahead. Always gone before you could close the distance. Always leaving you with nothing but questions and the infuriating feeling that he knew exactly what he was doing.
Why?
That was the question that kept you up at night.
Why follow you? Why protect you? Why watch for a full year without a single explanation?
It didn't make sense.
You weren't anyone important. Not to him. Not to anyone who wore a helmet and moved like violence was a first language.
You weren't working with Batman anymore, not really. You weren't part of some grand mission. You were just… you. A person with too much grief and a god inside their chest and children made of hunger.
Why would someone like him care?
Unless…
No.
You shook the thought away before it could form.
Because that way led to hope. And hope in Gotham was just disappointment dressed up in optimism.
Anyways…
One week since you’d fought side by side with someone who joked through bloodshed and looked at you like you were something interesting instead of something broken.
A drug deal.
Of course.
Because Gotham never let anything end clean. It just stacked rot on top of rot until the whole place smelled like it deserved to burn.
You stood above it all, watching from the edge of a rooftop, the city stretched out beneath you like something diseased. Down below, men talked in low voices, passing around packages like they were trading candy instead of poison.
How sweetly fucked up. Jason would’ve hated this.
That thought came uninvited.
Jason Todd hated drugs, Not just in “this is bad for society” way people liked to preach about, but in a personal, guttural way. The kind that lived in his voice when he talked about it. The kind that made his hands curl into fists even when he was trying to stay calm.
He told you once. About his mother. About what it did to her. About what it did to him.
You remembered the way his voice changed. It was just… honest. In a way he didn’t let many people see. And you’d listened. Because something in you had understood, even then, that this wasn’t just another story.
This was trust. This was him handing you something real. The thought sits heavy in your chest. You still remember it.
You remember too much. And that’s the problem. Because memory isn’t comfort. It’s evidence.
Because somehow without realizing when it happened you had become the second person he ever let see him like that.
Maybe even the first who really someone he ever-
And now-
Now you stood here, watching the same poison move through Gotham like a disease no one could cure.
And Jason wasn’t here to hate it with you.
The thought hollowed something out inside your chest.
You exhaled slowly, the breath shaking just slightly despite yourself.
You’ve always hated drugs too.
Not for the same reasons.
They took your parents.
Slow, ugly decay. Bad choices stacking into worse ones until there was nothing left but absence and resentment and a version of childhood you don’t like thinking about.
So yeah.
You hate them.
You hate what they do to people. You hate what they turn people into.
You hate the way Gotham lets it keep happening like it’s just another background noise.
Your children stir again, brushing against your arms, sensing the shift in your mood. they're hungry...
You exhale, long and tired. Below, the deal continues. Money changes hands.
Lives get traded in ways. You watch it all like you’re outside of it.
A mistake layered on top of other mistakes. A body carrying something that shouldn’t exist, feeding it, letting it grow.
Wait..
Why are we even talking about you?
You almost laugh.
Because it’s true, isn’t it?
You’re not the hero.
Not even a proper villain.
You’re something in-between.
Something that doesn’t fit.
Gotham runs on pattern crime, punishment, justice, failure, repeat.
You look down at the deal. At the men. At the poison being passed around like currency.
You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing.
“…Let’s crash it.”
“Bold plan.”
The voice came from behind you, close enough that your shoulders tensed before your mind caught up.
You turned.
And there he was.
The red helmet. Rain beading over it like the city itself refused to touch him properly. He stood a few steps back on the rooftop, arms loose at his sides, posture casual in that dangerous way you’d already learned meant the opposite.
You narrowed your eyes. “You stalking me now?”
“Now?” he echoed, amused. “That implies I started recently.”
Your jaw tightened.
You stare.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He leans casually against the low ledge, looking down at the deal like it’s mildly interesting at best. “Five glowsticks and a bad attitude?” he says. “Hate to break it to you, Jelly, but that’s not exactly an army.”
Your children bristle at that, drifting tighter around you.
“Huh?” you snap. “Who asked you?”
He glances sideways at you, amused. “Nobody. I just hate watching bad plans in action.”
Before you can fire back, he pushes off the ledge and drops.
Straight down.
You curse under your breath and move to follow, but he lands first.. clean, effortless, and looks up at you like he’s been waiting.
“I thought I told you to take a nice vacation,” he calls, voice carrying easily through the rain.
You scoff, already climbing down. “Yeah? And I thought I told you to mind your own business.”
He tilts his head slightly, and then, casual as breathing he says, “Aw, Jelly.. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.”
You freeze.
Your grip slips just slightly on the ledge before you land.
That line-
Your heart stutters, sharp and sudden. Because you’ve heard that before.
Not from him.
From Jason.
Persuasion, Captain Wentworth's letter to Anne Elliot...written by, Jane Austen.
He loved JANE AUSTEN....
Late night, half-laughing, half-serious, leaning too close while quoting that line, whenever you tease him, called him dramatic, and he’d rolled his eyes like it didn’t matter but it had.
It always had.
You stare at the red helmet.
“…What?”
He pauses.
Just for a second.
Like he didn’t expect that reaction. Then he shifts back, subtle, almost imperceptible but you catch it.
He caught himself.
Interesting.
“I suggest you stay up there,” he says instead, tone changing just enough to feel deliberate. “Sit this one out. I’ve got something to take care of.”
You don’t answer immediately. Because now you’re looking at him differently. Because now something isn’t sitting right. But before you can pull on that thread
he moves closer again.
And suddenly his voice drops, lower, sharper, not teasing anymore.
“You don’t hate it as much as you pretend.”
The words hit harder than they should.
You stiffen.
“What-?”
“You hate that you don’t hate it,” he continues, like he’s reading straight off your bones. “You act like you love it. Like it’s easy. But every time someone dies, you sweat. Your breathing changes. You check your hands like you’re expecting blood you can’t wash off.”
Your chest tightens.
“…Stop.”
“You count it,” he adds quietly. “Don’t you? Every body. Like keeping score might make it mean something.”
“Shut up.”
But your voice doesn’t carry weight Because he’s not guessing.
He’s right.
And you hate that.
He tilts his head again, studying you like a problem he’s already halfway solved. “So why are you here?” he asks. “Why do you want to kill them?”
You hesitate.
Just for a second.
“…I don't know..” you say finally, flat.
“They’re dealing to kids,” he says, voice going colder now, stripped of the humor. “New batch. Stronger. Cheaper. Hooks faster. They want it to spread.”
Your stomach drops.
The words hit harder than anything else he’d said.
Your expression shifted despite yourself.
“Yeah,” he says. “Thought that might get your attention.”
You look back down at the deal.
At the men. At the packages changing hands like it’s nothing.
Children. Of course. Of course Gotham couldn’t even let that line stay uncrossed.
He watches your reaction carefully.
He turned his head slightly, the red helmet, catching the light of the city.
“…To set an example,” he said.
“So the next genius who thinks about dragging kids into this remembers what happens.”
There’s something different in his tone now.
Not righteous.
Personal, You don’t know why, but you believe him.
He exhales once, then gestures vaguely toward the scene below. “So here’s how this goes,” he says. “I handle it. You stay out of the way.”
You lower your umbrella slightly, rain finally touching your face.
“You can kill them,” you say.
He blinks.
“…Huh?”
“I’ll stay here,” you continue, voice steady despite the storm inside your chest. “My reasons to hurt them are more… personal.”
Your children drift closer, sensing the shift, the permission not given.
“Yours,” you add, after a beat, “is the greater good...”
There’s a pause.
He studies you again, slower this time, like he’s trying to decide something.
“If it’s okay,” you finish quietly, “just leave some bodies.”
Your voice falters just slightly on the last word.
“For my… children.”
Silence.
Then-
“…Got it.”
Something in his tone shifts again. Softer. Almost respectful.
And then it’s gone.
He moves.
Fast.
Dropping into the deal below like a bullet given purpose.
And you stay where you are. Umbrella lowered. Rain soaking through your clothes. Watching. Your children hovering close, restless, waiting their turn. that phantom heartbeat aches again.
You watched him move, and something inside you went very, very still.
This wasn’t how Batman fought.
There was no restraint. No careful calculation meant to preserve life. No last-second mercy.
This was something else.
It was final and It was Brutal.
He didn’t just take them down, he ended them.
Gunshots, clean and deliberate. A knife when it was faster. No hesitation, no pause to reconsider. The men didn’t stand a chance, and he didn’t pretend they did. It wasn’t a fight; it was a purge.
And for a second just a second, you saw it wrong.
You saw a boy with a crooked smile and a stubborn tilt to his chin.
You saw Jason Todd, bloodied and furious, fighting like the world had already taken everything from him and he was daring it to try again.
Your throat tightened.
Your vision blurred.
No.
No, that wasn’t real.
You forced the thought down, hard, burying it where all the other impossible hopes went to die.
Hallucination.
It had to be.
Grief did that. It rewrote things. It made ghosts out of strangers.
You stayed where you were, breath unsteady, watching him finish.
Because that’s what it was. Done.
Every single one of them was down.
No survivors.
The rain washed over blood that didn’t matter anymore.
He stood in the middle of it, shoulders rising and falling once, like the violence had somewhere to go and nowhere to stay.
Then he looked up at you.
A small tilt of the helmet.
Come down.
You didn’t argue.
You dropped from the rooftop, landing a little rougher than usual because your hands were still shaking, your head still not entirely here.
He didn’t comment on it.
You didn’t look at him either too.
Instead, your attention caught on the duffel bag he was dragging.
Heavy. Too heavy for just supplies.
You stepped closer, crouched slightly, and pulled it open and the world tilted.
Curiosity killed better people than you.
You stepped closer.
“What’s in-”
You opened it. And the world tilted.
Heads.
Severed. Bloodied. Faces frozen in expressions that hadn’t finished forming.
Your stomach dropped so fast it felt like falling through your own body.
You staggered back, your footing slipping as the place spun around you, your knees hitting the ground harder than you registered.
“…What the-”
You couldn’t finish it.
He was already moving.
He crossed the distance in two quick steps and crouched in front of you, one hand catching your arm, steadying you before you could tip fully over.
“Hey-hey, stay with me,” he said, voice lower now, sharper with something that almost sounded like concern.
Your hands were shaking.
You couldn’t stop them.
“…That’s-those are-”
“I know what they are,” he cut in, steadying you on your feet. His grip was firm, grounding, like he’d done this before. “Breathe.”
You tried.
It didn’t help.
Because you’d seen bodies.
God, you’d made bodies.
You’d fed them to your children, watched them disappear piece by piece.
So why- Why did this hit different? Why did this feel.... wrong?
“They’re lieutenants,” he said finally, like he was explaining something simple. “Every major crew in this part of the city including those guys over there.."
You stared at him.
“…You’re joking.”
He didn’t react, He didn’t deny it.
He didn’t even try to soften it.
Realization hit you like a second blow.
He zipped the bag halfway, then looked at you.
“You can have the bodies,” he added casually, nodding toward the scattered remains around the alley. “For your kids.”
Your children, as if summoned by the word, drifted forward immediately, circling, lowering, beginning their quiet, hungry work. One of them brushed past your shoulder, a cold, familiar comfort against the chaos in your chest.
You barely noticed.
“Why..?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“To send a message,” he cut in.
You were still staring at him.
His helmet tilted slightly toward you. he didn’t look annoyed… if anything, he seemed ready to stand there all night and explain everything, like seeing you was the only thing that made him happy.
“Because this city understands fear better than it understands hope,” he said. “And right now, it needs to be afraid.”
Rain slid down the red surface, distorting your reflection in it.
“That’s why I told you to take a break,” he added. “Gotham’s about to tear itself apart trying to figure out who did this.”
A pause, Then-
“And it’s gonna be looking for someone to save it.”
You swallowed.
“…Batman....”
A short, humorless sound left him.
“It ain’t gonna be him.”
Something in the way he said that sat wrong.
You heard it faintly, the wet, quiet sounds, the soft movement as they curled around the bodies, lappets wrapping, dissolving, consuming. You should have looked away.
You didn’t. Because somehow, that part didn’t shake you.
This did.
“Leave,” he said suddenly.
Your gaze snapped back to him.
“What?”
“Get out of Gotham. For a while.” His tone wasn’t teasing anymore. It wasn’t even mocking. It was… serious. “Lay low. Stay out of this.”
You frowned.
“Why do you care? I don't under-”
He didn’t answer that. Instead, he stepped closer.
Your breath hitched, not from fear, not entirely.
He reached up.
And before you could react, his gloved hand brushed against your hair, pushing a damp strand back from your face with a strange, almost absent-minded care.
You froze.
“What are you-”
But he was already stepping away. Like it hadn’t meant anything. Like he hadn’t just crossed a line neither of you had acknowledged before.
Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.
Something felt-
Wrong.
You didn’t stay to figure it out.
You turned and ran.
Your boots hit pavement hard, breath coming faster than you wanted, the rain soaking through you as the alley disappeared behind you. You didn’t look back.
Didn’t want to.
Didn’t trust what you might see if you did.
Behind you, unnoticed-
something small clicked into place.
A thin device, no bigger than a coin, clinging where his hand had brushed your hair.
A tracker.
A listener.
He stood in the place, watching you go, one hand lifting slightly to the comm at his ear.
Your breathing crackled faintly through it.
He exhaled.
…sweet.
Like something he didn’t quite mean to let slip.
“…Yeah,” he murmured, quieter now, almost fond under his breath. “You’re still the same.”
A beat.
His thumb brushed the edge of the comm.
“…Hope you got the memo.”
One of your children lingered. It hadn’t followed you immediately.
Instead, it drifted back toward him, curious, its soft glow reflecting faintly off the red helmet. It hovered there for a second, studying him in its own strange way.
Then-
it tapped gently against his head.
He stilled.
“…Huh.”
The jellyfish lingered a moment longer, then turned and floated after you, disappearing into the rain.
He watched it go.
Then looked back at the alley.
At the bodies.
At the bag.
“…Of course,” he muttered.
You didn’t stop running until your lungs burned.
Until your legs threatened to give out. Until the city blurred into something unrecognizable.
You slowed eventually, breath ragged, a cough tearing its way out of your chest as you bent slightly, hands braced on your knees.
Your children gathered around you again, brushing against your arms, your back, your face. checking, soothing, existing.
You forced a laugh.
It came out weak.
“…Why are you acting like you haven’t seen bodies before? [NAME]” you muttered to yourself, voice rough.
Because you had.
You fed them to your children.
You watched them disappear.
You didn’t flinch.
So why-?
why did this feel different?
Why did he feel different?
You straightened slowly, rain dripping from your chin, your thoughts a mess you couldn’t untangle.
“…What the hell is wrong with me?"
That didn’t matter right now.
Your mind was moving too fast, thoughts slamming into each other hard enough to hurt.
The red helmet. The heads. The way he spoke like he knew you. The way he touched you like he already had.
Your stomach twisted.
The Bat-phone.
Bruce.
Fuck.
“Fuck-”
You stopped dead in the middle of the alley, rain soaking through your clothes, panic finally catching up and sinking its teeth into you.
You’d left it.
Of course you had.
Back in your apartment, shoved carelessly near your bed under a pile of clothes, because apparently your survival instincts liked taking breaks now.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
That guy might be suspicious.
No, he was suspicious.
No normal person followed someone around Gotham for over a year, shooting people before they could touch them. No normal person quoted Austen at you. No normal person carried severed heads around like grocery shopping...!!
Your children circled you immediately, reacting to the sharp spike of panic in your chest. Cold lappets brushed your arms, your throat, your face.
“…This guy might be…”
You couldn’t finish it. Couldn’t even think it all the way through.
Hope always was-
Your children pressed closer anyway, surrounding you in soft blue light until the city noise dulled at the edges. The cold returned.
Vast.
Ocean-deep.
Suddenly you weren’t in Gotham anymore. Or maybe Gotham had simply drowned.
You felt yourself sink into that endless sea again, your body weightless as your children circled around you like moons around a dying planet. Their lappets curled around your hands, your throat, your ribs—
Guiding.
And then you heard it.
Every pebble beneath invisible water. Every lotus-pad leaf trembling at the surface.
A voice not words exactly, but meaning.
We will walk you through your confusion.
The jellyfish lifted you gently, carrying you through that strange half-world between instinct and reality. Rooftops blurred beneath your feet. Fire escapes. Gutters. Broken neon signs reflecting in rain puddles.
You moved before you consciously chose to.
Following the pull in your chest while your children drifted ahead like lanterns through fog.
Then-!
An explosion shattered the night.
You landed hard on the edge of a cargo box overlooking absolute chaos.
Below, Batman and Nightwing were fighting some gigantic orange monstrosity that looked like a military tank had a baby with a demon. Metal screamed across the rooftop.
“Hello to you two-” you said as you landed beside them.
The creature turned immediately, its heavy frame grinding against concrete as it charged. Batman didn’t hesitate—he hurled explosives straight toward it.
Boom.
Boom.
Smoke swallowed the thing whole.
Nightwing landed beside Batman, staring upward skeptically while debris rained around all of you.
“Will that do any good?”
“It’ll slow it down,” Batman answered flatly.
You stared at the massive shape climbing straight out of the smoke, completely unharmed.
“…You think so?” you shouted.
Then the thing-
You blinked slowly.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
“Run,” Batman ordered immediately.
“What the hell is that?!” you yelled, already sprinting after them anyway.
Batman glanced sharply toward you while grappling forward.
“How did you get here?”
You stared at him in disbelief. “Does that matter when we’re running for our lives?!”
The creature roared loud enough to shake nearby windows.
Nightwing looked over mid-run and immediately broke into a grin.
“Oh shit,” he laughed breathlessly, “baby sibling’s back.”
“Shut up,” you snapped instantly.
That only made him laugh harder.
God. You forgot how unbelievably annoying Dick Grayson was.
Two tied-up men nearby froze as they stared at you.
“…Wait,” one muttered. “Who the hell are they?”
The second thug squinted harder. “Holy shit—that’s one of Batman’s old kids. The one that worked with the second Robin.”
“Gotham hasn’t seen them in years-”
“Get to higher ground!” Batman barked.
Before anyone could move properly, Nightwing grabbed you around the waist and grappled away just as the rooftop behind you exploded.
“Did you know he could fly?!” he shouted.
“No!” you yelled back.
“Move!” Batman ordered again from ahead of you.
“I wouldn’t be offended,” Nightwing coughed dramatically while hauling you through the air, “by a few warnings beforehand!”
“You idiot!” you snapped, clutching onto him for dear life.
He tried to swing you safely onto another rooftop, but the momentum sent you skidding dangerously close to the edge before your children reacted instinctively.
Cold lappets wrapped around your arms and waist.
For half a second, you floated.
Nightwing’s eyes widened.
“…Okay,” he said slowly. “What…?”
Batman glanced sharply toward the two of you. He clearly didn’t understand what Nightwing had seen, but the look he gave you said he’d already filed it away for later.
The creature roared again.
“He’s got the same weak points as a human being!” Batman shouted through comms.
“Got it,” Nightwing replied, spinning his escrima sticks into his hands. “This might sting a bit…”
The electrified sticks slammed directly into the creature’s ears with a violent crack of blue electricity.
The thing screamed.
So did Nightwing.
“Oh, that is way louder up close!”
The blast sent both him and Batman flying-
At least-Dick was safe-!!
And you.
Your stomach dropped.
“Nightwing!”
You were sent straight toward the creature itself, while Nightwing caught onto Batman.
Oh.
Oh, that was bad.
“[NAME]!” Nightwing shouted immediately. “Batman-!”
You reacted instantly, trying to recover midair! but the creature slammed into you hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs.
Pain exploded through your ribs.
Then your children surged forward all at once.
Glowing bodies wrapped around you before impact could finish the job, slowing your fall just enough to keep you from being crushed.
“…Okay,” Nightwing said slowly, staring directly at you. “I definitely saw that.”
Batman turned immediately. “What did you see?”
Nightwing looked between you and Bruce, visibly trying to process it. “I-I don’t know, it looked like something caught them-!”
“O-oh dear,” you blurted out quickly, forcing an awkward laugh while climbing shakily to your feet. “Must’ve been adrenaline.”
You straightened stiffly, trying to pretend nothing strange had happened.
Nightwing stared at you.
Batman’s gaze narrowed beneath the cowl.
Before either of them could question further, the creature swung again. You barely had time to react before it backhanded you across the street.
The world spun violently. Then strong arms caught you midair.
Batman.
You stared up at him for half a second, disoriented.
“…Thanks?”
“You’re distracted,” he said sharply while setting you down.
The creature turned again, glowing eyes charging brighter.
Nightwing looked up.
“…Lasers,” he deadpanned. “He’s got lasers!”
Your children darted forward instantly.
To Bruce and Dick, nothing was there but suddenly the creature’s targeting began jerking wildly, its aim thrown off by invisible interference weaving around its face.
Nightwing frowned deeply. “What the hell happened to the-?”
Batman moved before he could finish. He slammed something directly against the creature’s eyes.
Putty?
Nightwing blinked. “I don’t think putty in his eyes is gonna-"
"Hurt him.”
The explosion rocked the entire block.
For one horrible second, the machine stood there headless.
“But plastique will. Oh. Nice.”
The headless body staggered once, sparks bursting violently from its ruined neck, then collapsed into the pavement with a deafening crash.
Smoke curled upward into the sky.
Nightwing stared.
“…Okay,” he breathed. “That was kinda awesome.”
Then Batman turned toward you fully.
“What are you doing here?”
There it was.
The Bat Voice.
The one that made you feel fourteen again.
You opened your mouth to answer-
-and suddenly your lungs forgot how to work.
The red helmet.
Your breathing broke sharply.
Your children crowded around you immediately, cold lappets brushing frantically against your throat and shoulders as if trying to hold you together.
“Hey-hey,” Night wing said instantly, stepping closer. His voice softened fast. “Easy. Breathe first, interrogation later.”
You tried.
Batman was watching you too carefully. Not your face, the air around you.
Suspicious.
You forced yourself to inhale.
Exhale.
Again.
Eventually your heartbeat slowed enough to think.
Nightwing crouched slightly in front of you, hands raised.
“There you go,” he said gently. “Better?”
You nodded once.
Batman’s gaze lingered on you for one more second.
Then the moment passed.
“It can wait,” he said finally, voice clipped and practical again. “We have more important things right now.”
You exhaled shakily and nodded once.
Right.
Focus.
The massive orange creature whatever the hell it was hung restrained upside down now, thick cables binding its limbs while black oil dripped steadily onto the rooftop below. Nightwing was still securing the last restraints while muttering complaints under his breath.
“You know,” Dick grunted while tightening another cable, “I miss when criminals were just emotionally unstable shits. but not the clown.”
“Well, The clown was emotionally scarring..” you muttered automatically.
Nightwing pointed at you immediately. “See? They get me.”
Batman ignored both of you completely.
The three tied-up men from the shipment sat trembling near the wreckage, terrified, staring between the Bat family and you like they were reconsidering every life decision that led them here.
Batman stepped toward them slowly.
“This shipment was meant for Black Mask,” he said flatly. “I doubt you’re behind this.”
The men exchanged panicked looks.
“Who do you work for?”
“I swear,” one of them blurted immediately, “we’re not working for anybody!”
“This was our gig,” He insisted quickly. “Our idea!”
You stared at them.
“No,” you said quietly.
Batman’s eyes flicked toward you.
You stepped closer, Water from your hair as your children drifted silently around your shoulders.
“They’re lying.”
Batman didn’t even glance at you. He already knew.
The men stiffened immediately.
One of them looked straight at you and paled.
Batman noticed.
So did Nightwing.
Batman turned slightly. “Nightwing. Release it.”
Night wing blinked once.
“…Right.”
He hit the release.
The giant orange monstrosity suddenly lurched downward with a violent metallic scream.
The tied-up men panicked instantly.
“WAIT WAIT WAIT-!”
One of them shrieked loud enough to crack his voice.
Then suddenly-
he screamed again.
Higher this time.
Your eyes slowly drifted downward.
One of your children had wrapped gently around his arm Stinging him.
Not enough to kill. Just enough to terrify.
Good...
“STOP STINGING ME!” the man shrieked hysterically.
Night wing stared.
Batman stared harder.
You stared too performing confusion a second too late.
“Oh my god,” you blurted awkwardly, looking around dramatically. “That’s crazy. Who could possibly be doing that. We are right here, Unless Batman created something new.”
Nightwing slowly turned toward you.
“…Really?”
“I’LL TALK!” the man screamed before anyone could question further. “I’LL TALK, JUST STOP-STOP!”
The jellyfish drifted back obediently.
The man sobbed once before gasping out-
“The Red Hood.”
Your entire body went cold.
“…What?”
“We’re working for the Red Hood!”
The words slammed into your chest hard enough to hurt.
Your heartbeat spiked violently.
Red Hood.
You stepped forward immediately.
“The guy with the red helmet?” you demanded. “You saw him?!”
The men nodded frantically.
“Yes! Yes!”
Your stomach twisted. You didn't care anymore. That Bruce saw you. (Maybe you will be asking.)
“What does he look like?” you pressed instantly. “How tall? Did he say anything? Did he-”
“We don’t have a choice!” one interrupted desperately. “He’s got-”
Crack.
The man’s head snapped sideways violently.
For one horrible second nobody moved.
Then-
another shot.
Another body dropped.
Gunfire exploded across the rooftop.
You flinched hard as concrete shattered beside you.
“The shots came from the rooftop,” Batman barked instantly.
A sniper.
Your chest seized.
Oh.
Oh shit.
Batman was already moving, lifting his binoculars toward a distant building.
“…Good one,” he muttered under his breath.
You stared at him in horror.
Good one?!
“What the hell?!” you snapped.
Nightwing rushed beside Bruce immediately. “See him?”
“Yeah.”
Batman’s jaw tightened beneath the cowl.
Then he activated comms instantly.
“Batplane. Now.”
The distant roar of engines answered almost immediately.
You blinked.
“…Wait.”
Batman grappled forward without hesitation.
The Batplane descended overhead.
And then-
Bruce left.
Just like that.
Nightwing stared upward in disbelief.
“Hey- wait!” he shouted. “Right. Leave us with them!”
You looked down at the corpses.
At the sniper wounds. At the skyline.
And suddenly your body moved before your brain caught up.
You ran.
“HEY-” Nightwing shouted behind you immediately. “[NAME], WAIT-!”
You ignored him completely.
Your boots slammed against wet ground while the Batplane vanished deeper into Gotham’s skyline.
This was bigger than you thought.
The Red Hood.
The way he knew you.
Your children surged around you instantly, glowing brighter as they lifted you across impossible gaps once Dick disappeared behind you.
Cold lappets curled around your waist and arms.
You flew. Or something close enough to it. Wind tore past your face while Gotham blurred beneath you in streaks of neon and smoke.
Because now there was a name.
Red Hood.
And somehow, this is-
You flowed through Gotham like your life depended on it.
Maybe it did.
Your lungs burned.
Your thoughts burned worse.
Red Hood.
The name looped through your head over and over again like something trying to claw its way free.
By the time you reached the warehouse district, smoke was already curling into the sky.
Your stomach dropped.
“No-”
The explosion hit a second later.
The entire warehouse erupted in fire and debris, the shockwave knocking you backward hard enough to skid across soaked concrete. Heat slammed into your face. Metal screamed. Windows shattered outward in violent bursts.
“Batman!” you shouted instantly.
For one horrible second, all you saw was fire.
It-
...That's how you saw-
Then-
a dark figure burst through the smoke.
Batman landed hard against the pavement below, rolling once before catching himself on one knee.
You ran toward him immediately.
“Bruce-!”
He looked up sharply beneath the cowl, clearly startled to see you there at all.
“You’re injured?”
“I’m fine,” you said too quickly. “Are you okay?”
Batman stood slowly, smoke curling around him while flames consumed the building behind him.
“I asked you to stay back.”
“And I ignored you,” you shot back breathlessly. “Clearly a family tradition at this point.”
Then his gaze narrowed slightly.
“How did you get here this fast?”
Your stomach twisted.
Right.
Normal explanation.
You forced yourself to answer immediately before hesitation could betray you.
“I-I stole a vehicle,” you admitted, wincing slightly. “One of the transport bikes.... I was going to return it, but then it exploded while I was following the Batplane, so… sorry?”
Batman stared at you silently.
You kept going before he could dissect the lie.
“I ran the rest of the way.”
Technically true.
Mostly.
Your children hovered nervously around your shoulders while Bruce studied you long enough to make your skin itch.
Then suddenly his hand lifted.
You blinked.
“…What?”
Before you could react, Batman reached toward the side of your head, fingers brushing carefully through damp strands of hair-
and pulled something free.
A tiny device glinted faintly beneath the warehouse firelight.
Your eyes widened instantly.
No.
No way.
Batman looked down at the device once.
“A tracker,” he said flatly.
Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.
“And a listener.”
Oh.
Oh, you were going to kill him.
Batman crushed it instantly in his hand.
The sharp crack of broken metal sounded absurdly loud beneath the burning warehouse.
“Well,” he said slowly, voice lowering into that terrifyingly calm tone that meant he was absolutely putting things together, “that explains why you were asking those men very specific questions about the Sniper."
You stared at the destroyed tracker in horror.
Then down at the ground.
Your face suddenly felt very warm despite the rain.
Your children slowly drifted farther away from you like even they knew this looked bad.
“…I can explain,” you muttered weakly.
Batman folded his arms.
“That would be a good start.”
You rubbed a hand over your face immediately.
“Okay, in my defense-”
“In your defense,” Batman repeated.
“-I didn’t know he put a tracker on me!”
Bruce stared at you.
You pointed vaguely at your own head.
“He touched my hair and then I panicked and ran away! That’s not exactly a moment where someone expects to get bugged!”
Batman’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“He touched your hair.”
You froze.
“…That is not the important part of this conversation.”
“The important part,” Batman said evenly, “is that Red Hood has been tracking you.”
Your heartbeat kicked harder.
Because hearing Bruce say it out loud made it feel real in a way your own thoughts hadn’t.
Batman looked toward the burning warehouse briefly before continuing.
“He knew where you lived. He knew where you’d go. And based on your reaction earlier…” his gaze sharpened slightly beneath the cowl, “…this isn’t the first time he’s appeared around you.”
You looked away first.
“…No,” you admitted quietly. “It isn’t.”
Batman’s expression darkened almost immediately.
“How long?”
You hesitated.
“…About a year.”
That got a reaction.
Bruce straightened slightly.
“A year,” he repeated.
"I am not saying the rest!"
Batman went still. Bruce rarely lost control of himself like that anymore.
But you saw it anyway in the sudden rigidity of his shoulders, in the way his jaw tightened beneath the cowl, in the silence that followed your confession like the city itself had paused to listen.
“A year,” he repeated again, lower this time. “You knew someone was tracking you for a year and said nothing.”
You swallowed hard.
“It wasn’t like that-”
“You were being watched by an armed vigilante killing people across Gotham,” he cut in, anger finally slipping through the cracks of his control. “Someone who planted surveillance equipment on you. Someone connected to something dangerous. And you decided to handle that alone?”
Your children recoiled slightly from the sudden shift in his voice.
You felt yourself tense immediately.
“I was handling it.”
“No,” Bruce snapped, taking one step closer, “you were surviving it. There’s a difference.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
You looked away instantly.
Rain poured between both of you while the warehouse burned behind him, flames turning the edges of Gotham gold and violent.
“You should have told me.”
Something inside you twisted painfully.
Should have.
Should have.
Should have.
The phrase echoed through your head like a curse.
You should’ve saved Jason.
You should’ve stopped Joker.
You should’ve died instead.
You laughed suddenly.
Batman’s expression shifted slightly.
You stared at him.
Then laughed again.
“What the hell am I supposed to do, Bruce?” you asked, voice cracking around the edges. “Seriously. What exactly did you want from me?”
“You come to me when you’re in danger.”
“Oh, now I come to you?”
The bitterness slipped out before you could stop it.
Bruce stiffened.
You felt it immediately, the moment the conversation crossed the line/
But you couldn’t stop anymore.
Not now.
“You don’t know what’s happening to me,” you said, your voice shaking harder now. “You don’t know what I am anymore. And I didn’t ask you to.”
“You’re not alone in this.”
“Then why does it feel like it?!”
Your voice broke loudly enough to echo off the surrounding buildings.
Your children circled frantically around you now, reacting to your distress!
Bruce stepped forward again.
You stepped back immediately.
“No,” you snapped. “No, don’t do that.”
“[Name]-”
“You never tell me anything either!” The words ripped out of you raw and fast now, years of grief and anger finally tearing themselves open. “You keep everything locked up until it destroys everyone around you and then act surprised when nobody knows how to help!”
“That’s not fair.”
You stared at him in disbelief.
“Fair?”
Your laugh sounded hysterical now.
“Fair?”
The grief inside your chest finally split open completely.
“You wanna know why I didn’t tell you?” you shouted. “Why would I tell the man who couldn’t even avenge his own son?!”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
The second the words left your mouth, you saw it hit him.
Bruce Wayne didn’t flinch like normal people did.
But something in his face...?
Huh?
Because now you were crying.
Hot tears, while your breathing tore apart in your chest.
“Jason died and nothing happened!” you screamed at him. “The Joker’s still out there laughing and breathing and hurting people and living while Jason’s underground and you expect me to trust your way of doing things?!”
Batman’s hands clenched at his sides.
“You think I don’t live with that every day?”
“I don’t care!” you shouted instantly.
And that was the worst part.
Because it was true right now.
You were too angry to care.
“I don’t owe you every miserable thing happening in my life!” you continued, voice breaking harder with every word. “I don’t owe you explanations about what I do every day just because-"
SHUT UP! If you wanted revenge if you wanted justice for Jason then why didn’t you take it?!
WHY?
Was it because you were scared?
Scared of him?
Scared of that laughing clown?
Then why ask Bruce to do it?!
You could’ve done it yourself!
Jason died screaming and you let that monster keep smiling.
YOU COWARD
YOU KILLED ALL THOSE PEOPLE TO FEED YOUR CHILDREN you told yourself it's the only way, wait you didn't know. of course you were scared. HOW DO YOU THINK BRUCE WAYNE’S GONNA LOOK AT YOU WHEN HE FINDS OUT, HUH?! YOU’RE FUCKING INSANE, YOU’RE GONNA END UP IN JAIL. LIKE YOUR PARENTS ENDED--
“[Name].”
“No!” you snapped violently. “I don’t want to tell you. And if I don’t want to then I don’t!”
Your children crowded around you protectively now, lappets curling around your arms and shoulders like shields.
Bruce stared at you silently.
Behind him, the warehouse continued to burn.
And suddenly he just looked-
tired, after all-
A father who lost his son and never learned how to survive it properly.
His voice lowered when he finally spoke again.
“…You think I didn't want to-”
Your breathing hitched.
Bruce looked away briefly toward the fire.
“There are nights,” he admitted quietly, “where I still hear Jason screaming in that warehouse.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“And there are nights,” he continued, voice rougher now, “where I wish I had.”
The silence afterward felt unbearable.
Just heavy enough to crush whatever anger was left inside you.
You stared at Bruce for a long moment before finally looking away first. Your chest hurt. Your throat hurt worse. The adrenaline had burned itself out, leaving only exhaustion behind.
You took a slow step backward.
Then another.
You exhaled hard.
“…Sorry, Bats.”
Your voice came out smaller than you wanted.
“I didn’t mean to add to your pain.”
Bruce said nothing immediately.
You could still see the grief.
You always could.
That was the problem with loving people for too long, you learned where the cracks lived.
You rubbed tiredly at your face.
“I know you cared about him,” you muttered quietly. “I know.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened slightly.
You swallowed hard.
God, why was talking suddenly harder than fighting monsters?
“…Let’s just go,” you said eventually, exhausted more than anything now. “I’ll answer your questions.”
That finally got his attention.
You forced yourself to keep speaking before your courage disappeared again.
“I’ve seen him,” you admitted quietly. “The Red Hood.”
Bruce’s gaze sharpened instantly beneath the cowl.
You looked down at the rainwater pooling near your boots.
“And I didn’t…” You frowned slightly, struggling to explain something you barely understood yourself. “I didn’t tell you because…” Your voice faltered. “I don’t know. Something about it felt…"
Familiar.
You closed your eyes briefly.
“It felt like something was protecting me from Gotham itself,” you whispered. “Like every time something was about to happen, he was already there.”
The shadows watching you from rooftops before disappearing again.
You laughed weakly once, but there was no humor in it.
“I know how insane that sounds.”
Bruce didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t dismiss it either.
That somehow made continuing easier.
“I don’t understand his motive,” you admitted. “I don’t understand why he followed me for so long. Why me. Why any of this.”
Your children drifted closer at the tension in your voice, brushing softly against your wrists.
“And I can’t explain why I couldn’t tell you,” you continued quietly. “Every time I thought about it…” You shook your head slowly. “Something in me just, stopped.”
You hated how pathetic that sounded.
But it was true.
Hope had wrapped itself around your throat too tightly to name.
You finally looked back up at Bruce.
“…But I’ll help,” you said.
Your voice steadied slightly then.
“I’ll help however I can,” you finished quietly. “Not for you.”
Bruce’s expression didn’t change.
But he listened.
You swallowed once.
“I need to know why he did all this.”
The ride back to the Batcave was quiet.
You sat in the back of the Batmobile staring out through rain-streaked windows while Gotham blurred past in.
Your children drifted lazily around your shoulders, their glow faint beneath the dark interior. Every now and then one brushed your cheek like it was checking you were still here.
Bruce said nothing the entire drive.
You were grateful for it.
By the time the cave opened beneath you, stone, shadows, humming monitors, endless black you felt wrung hollow.
And somehow seeing it again hurt.
The Batcave looked exactly the same.
Cold monitors glowing against black stone. The distant echo of dripping water.
The low mechanical hum of computers that never truly stopped running.
It almost hurt how little had changed.
Because it still felt like home.
That was the problem.
You walked in quietly behind Bruce, clothes clinging to your skin while your children floated nearby. They seemed calmer here somehow. Curious. One drifted toward the giant dinosaur before slowly spinning away again.
He stood there like he owned the cave, one hand dramatically planted against on his waist.
“This bit of intel,” Nightwing announced, “is what brought me to town.”
“Good thing I’ve always had perfect timing.”
“You say that every time,” you muttered.
“Because I’m right every time.”
You quietly moved toward the edge of the platform, arms folded tightly across yourself, trying very hard to become furniture.
“Take a look,” Dick said.
A surveillance image flickered onto the screen.
Blurry.
But unmistakable.
Red helmet.
Your stomach tightened immediately.
“The Red Hood,” Batman said flatly.
“Might be,” Dick replied. “He bears a resemblance to the original.”
Bruce folded his arms.
“Several criminals have utilized this persona.”
“Yeah,” Dick nodded, leaning back against the console, “but there’s one criminal of particular interest, though.”
A beat passed.
“But he’s locked up.”
“Not his M.O. either,” Bruce added immediately.
You stayed quiet while staring at the image.
Red Hood.
Even blurry, he looked familiar in a way that made your chest ache.
“There’s been an uptick in heavy trafficking,” Dick continued, “but crime is down.”
“Indeed it is.”
You turned.
Alfred Pennyworth approached carrying a tray with tea and snacks balanced carefully in his hands.
And somehow that almost hurt more than everything else.
“Master Bruce has gotten almost three hours of sleep in the last two days,” Alfred said dryly. “A true busman’s holiday.”
Dick snorted.
Bruce ignored him completely.
Then Alfred looked at you.
And softened instantly.
“Ah,” he murmured gently. “You came back home.”
Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
“…Temporarily,” you mumbled.
“Of course,” Alfred replied politely, in the exact tone that meant he absolutely did not believe you.
One of your jellyfish floated curiously toward his face, lappets brushing the air near his cheek.
He couldn’t see it. he paused slightly. then-
Smiled faintly.
Like some instinctive part of him felt something there anyway.
“You’ve grown,” Alfred added softly. “Quite the same, though.”
You looked down awkwardly. “…Not that much.”
That earned the smallest smile from him. Alfred handed you a plate.
Your favorite snacks. You blinked at them for a second too long.
“…You remembered.”
“My dear,” Alfred said gently, “I remember all of your favorites.”
Your smile appeared before you could stop it. Across the cave, Bruce looked up briefly.
You didn’t notice. Dick definitely did.
And unfortunately for you, Dick Grayson never let anything go unnoticed.
He leaned toward you slightly while Bruce continued scanning files.
Then, in the most obnoxiously conspiratorial whisper imaginable=
“So,” he murmured, “from what I’ve seen, Gotham’s newest homicidal crime lord has a huge crush on you.”
You nearly choked on your tea.
“What?!” you whisper-hissed back immediately.
Dick grinned shamelessly.
“He protected you for over a year.”
“He tracked me for over a year,” you corrected instantly.
“Protectively.”
“That is not better.”
Dick’s grin widened.
“He touched your hair.”
“That means nothing and he put a tracker on me. ASK BRUCE.”
“He stalked you with sniper support.”
“That sounds worse when you say it like that!”
“It’s Gotham,” Dick whispered dramatically. “That’s basically a love confession.”
Dick was joking! But- GOOD GOD.
You stared at him in horror.
“Oh my god you genuinely don’t know.”
“There’s nothing to know,” you hissed quietly. “I hoped maybe he was trying to help, okay? But this guy literally put a tracker on me to see what I was going to do.”
Dick blinked once.
Then immediately looked even more entertained.
“You hoped?”
“No- not like that- shut up.”
“You hoped,” he repeated with absolute delight.
You wanted to throw the tea at him.
“He told me to leave Gotham because it was gonna get dangerous,” you muttered quietly, glancing toward the Red Hood image again. “And then he tracks me anyway? Looking at all this… whatever this is… he clearly wanted to keep tabs on me.”
Dick tilted his head thoughtfully.
“…Still sounds romantic.”
“It sounds insane.”
“Those overlap here.”
You rubbed your face tiredly.
“Jason would’ve beaten this guy up.”
Dick snorted loudly enough that Bruce briefly glanced over.
You immediately looked away like absolutely nothing suspicious was happening. Dick lowered his voice again.
“Oh, absolutely. Jay would’ve thrown him through a wall for stalking you.”
Dick leaned closer again while Bruce worked silently at the Batcomputer, lowering his voice like he was sharing state secrets instead of actively making your life worse.
“You know,” he whispered with a grin, “Jay would’ve been insanely jealous.”
You stared at him flatly. “Of a guy in a red bucket helmet stalking me around Gotham?”
“Absolutely.”
“He would not.”
Dick looked genuinely offended. “You think Jason Todd would react normally to some mystery man following you around for over a year?”
You opened your mouth to argue.
Then stopped. Because honestly… no. Jason probably would have tracked the guy down within twenty-four hours and committed at least three felonies about it....
“He would’ve hunted him down immediately,” Dick continued, clearly enjoying himself now. “Like, scary immediately.”
“And brought him to justice,” Bruce added from the computer before either of you could continue.
Both you and Dick looked over in surprise.
Bruce still wasn’t facing either of you. His eyes stayed fixed on the files glowing across the screen, jaw tense beneath the cowl.
Then, after a beat, he added quietly, “And broken his teeth.”
Dick blinked once. “Okay, wow. Weirdly specific.”
Bruce didn’t answer.
For one tiny second, it almost felt normal. Like Jason was just somewhere else in the manor complaining loudly about all of you discussing him without permission. Like he’d walk into the cave at any moment, dramatic and alive and impossible to ignore.
Dick smiled faintly at the thought too.
“Honestly,” he said more gently now, “Jay probably would’ve hated the guy immediately just because he made you nervous.”
Your chest tightened.
“But,” Dick added, pointing at you, “he also would’ve been there for you through all of it. Even if he acted annoyed the whole time.”
A weak laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “That sounds exactly like him.”
“He’d pretend he didn’t care,” Dick said, grinning now, “and then you’d catch him sleeping outside your apartment because he thought someone was following you.”
“And he’d deny it too,” you muttered. Dick nodded.
“Besides,” Dick started lightly, “Jason probably would’ve done the same thing if h-”
Bruce’s hands slowed against the keyboard for half a second.
Dick noticed anyway.
He stopped himself instantly. The sentence died halfway out of his mouth. The mood changed so fast it almost physically hurt.
Bruce slowly looked over at him.
Dick immediately went quiet. Your smile disappeared too.
Because all of you heard the rest of the sentence anyway.
Jason probably would’ve done the same thing if he loved someone enough.
Or maybe:
if he thought he was protecting them.
So your feet moved before your brain caught up.
You drifted away from the Batcomputer slowly, The Robin suit stood behind glass like preserved ghosts, frozen pieces of people Gotham had already swallowed whole.
And there-
Jason Todd's-
You stopped in front of his suit without realizing you had.
The glass reflected your face beside the uniform, blurring the two of you together strangely beneath the cave lights until, for one horrible second, it almost looked like you were standing side by side again.
You missed him. You missed him like an injury that never closed properly.
Like something inside your ribs had been ripped open years ago and simply learned how to keep bleeding quietly.
Every day.
You didn’t notice Alfred Pennyworth approach until he was standing beside you.
Alfred nodded slowly, eyes lingering on Jason’s uniform too.
“We miss him as well.”
A weak laugh escaped you.
“Yeah,” you murmured. “I can tell.”
Because nobody here had truly moved on.
The entire Batcave still felt built around Jason-shaped grief, like every computer, every weapon, every shadow in the cave had learned to live around the hole he left behind.
Alfred stepped a little closer then and gently rested a hand against your head, patting it the same way he used to years ago.
The affection nearly shattered you.
“Missing someone,” he said quietly, “is the unfortunate price of loving them properly.”
Your eyes burned immediately.
“It’s Jason or no one,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.
Across the cave, Dick looked over toward the two of you. His expression softened instantly into something warm and painfully fond. Dick joked constantly. But he always noticed when things mattered.
Bruce remained near the Batcomputer in silence, though his gaze flicked briefly toward Jason’s suit before he looked away again like it physically hurt to stare too long.
Then Dick cleared his throat lightly, dragging the conversation back toward the case.
“But he is locked up,” he said, turning toward Bruce again. “Like… a lot locked up.”
Bruce typed something into the Batcomputer without looking up.
“Maybe we should go for a visit,” Dick continued.
You nodded faintly. “That makes sense-”
Then stopped.
“…Where’s Bruce?” Dick turned around. The Bat computer chair sat empty.
A second later the Batmobile engine roared violently through the cave.
Both of you snapped toward the tunnel just in time to see the car already- He was already in the car.
Dick threw both hands into the air dramatically. The biscuits- fell down..!!?!
“Could you just once say, ‘Let’s get in the car’?!” he shouted “Is that so hard?!”
Alfred shoved a few snacks into your hands before you and Dick bolted for the car...
“This is gonna be fun, I did miss going with you guys..! wait… meeting-”
You froze. “…The Joker!?”
I love your theme so so so much!! :DDD
THANK YOU TEHEE, UH UHM, WOULD YOU WANT A HEADER FOR YOUR FANFIC 🥺 IT'S SO PEAK, I WOULD LOVE TO MAKE ONE 🫶
[ ✸ Under his heart with you ✸ - JASON TODD X G.N Reader (Under the redhood au) ] 0.0
✸ Under his heart with you ✸ - JASON TODD X G.N Reader (Under the red hood au)
PROLOGUE ── in memory of jason todd, and the rebirth of you.
Word Count: 6,000 words
Synopsis: He played two cruel jokes. One was your “death.” The other was his you remember that day too well, the way it burned into you, the way it never really ended. he died. Jason Todd. Maybe the only person you ever loved. that’s the story, isn’t it? the punchline everyone believes. That he died. but the real joke the crueler one was you. Pulled from icy waters by a creature that wasn't supposed to exist, you survive with more than just scars. A god lives in your ribs now. thank the joker, You leave Wayne Manor, your grief, and Bruce's moral code behind, building a new life in Gotham's shadows with only your jellyfish-"your children" for company. Two years later, a man in a red helmet intervenes during a hit. He fights like Jason. He stands like Jason. in a way...?
Content Warning: Major character death (Jason Todd), graphic violence, torture (referenced), drowning, asphyxiation, suicidal ideation, body horror, blood/gore, murder, revenge fantasies, parental grief, trauma responses, emotional breakdowns, consumption of humans (by creatures), dissociation.
A/N: i originally wanted to do a normal reader, lol, but then i had a suggestion and we ended up flipping a coin… and somehow landed on jellyfish powers 😭 this is kind of sad but also funny. this is my first fic here, so i’m kinda nervous! also, sorry if it's bad.
You remember running after Jason like grief had hands and his name was one of them.
He was angry...
Angry is a slammed door. Angry is raised voices and shattered glass and a bad night that still ends.
This was something uglier, This was the kind of rage that made a boy sixteen years old look ancient. The kind that sat in his ribs like a second skeleton. The kind that made him go after Joker like vengeance was holy and he was finally willing to pray.
You remember shouting after him. You remember your lungs burning. You remember his back.
And then....
nothing.
No, not nothing.
It was cold, so cold.
Something wrapped around your ankle first, like the sea asking politely before it drowns you. Long ribbons brushing your skin, tender as fingers, cruel as fate.
A jellyfish.
At least, that’s the only word your broken brain has for it.
A thing all glow and silk and ghost-light, dragging you downward, downward, into something dark and deep and endless. Like being stuffed inside a coffin full of ocean. Like sinking into God’s throat.
You couldn’t scream.
The cold stole that first.
It crawled into your mouth, your lungs, your bones. It sat in your chest and made a home there. Your body felt distant. Like meat someone else forgot to bury.
You remember thinking-
oh.
So this is dying.
And then even that thought dissolved.
When Batman pulled you out, you were more corpse than anything.
Half-dead. Maybe more than half.
Your skin was freezing to the touch, lips pale, body limp in his arms like something dredged up from the bottom of a lake. You remember the look on his face only in flashes, tight jaw, wide eyes, something almost afraid.
Maybe even Ra's al Ghul hadn’t expected that much damage.
Maybe even he looked at what was left of you and thought-
ah.
That might be too much.
Maybe that was why he made it easier.
Why he let Batman find you.
Why you were breathing at all.
Mercy, from a man like that, always looked suspiciously like strategy.
Still.
You lived.
Unfortunately.
You woke strapped to the back of the Bat cycle, arms weak around Bruce’s waist, the engine roaring loud enough to split the sky open.
Everything hurt, Everything was cold. not outside-cold.
Inside-cold.
Like that thing, the jellyfish, the monster, whatever it was- had left part of the ocean inside you. Like your blood had forgotten how to be warm.
Your teeth wouldn’t stop shaking. Bruce was saying something.
His voice came to you like it was underwater.
“Hold on, [Name]. We’re almost-”
Almost what? Safe? Too late? Jason?
Your fingers twitched against the armor.
Jason.
Your chest cracked open around the name.
He was taken.
And you couldn’t stop it.
Couldn’t help him.
Couldn’t do anything except drown prettily and get rescued like some tragic fucking idiot in a tower made of bad decisions.
Pathetic. You swallowed against the ice in your throat.
“J…Jason…”
Your voice sounded wrong.
Bruce drove faster. You could feel it then.
“Almost there,” Batman warned, his voice sharp through the roar of the engine, but your body had already made the choice before your mind could catch up.
The second the Batcycle slowed enough, you were dragging yourself off of it.
Bruce shouted your name, but your fingers had already slipped from him, your bare feet hit the pavement wrong, and your knees nearly buckled under you. Everything still felt soaked in that awful ocean-cold, your limbs heavy and distant, like your body was only reluctantly agreeing to be alive.
Batman was already running towards it..?
Ahead of you, the warehouse stood like a bad omen.
And then it exploded. The sound split the world open.
Heat slammed into you so suddenly it felt violent, Bruce moving faster than thought, his cape thrown around you like a shield as debris and ash rained down. The force knocked the breath from your lungs, and for one suspended second there was only fire, orange and hungry and absolute.
The warehouse was gone.
Your eyes went wide. Too wide. Your whole body turned to static.
No.
No, no-
“J-Jason?”
Your voice cracked so hard it barely sounded human. Bruce was already moving, and so were you.
You ran. Barefoot, half-dead, lungs tearing themselves apart, you ran.
Over broken glass, over shattered wood, over stone still hot from the blast-snow. Sharp rocks bit into the soles of your feet and split skin. open
Ice ice ice ice snow snow snow,
But pain felt irrelevant now, something happening to someone else. You were coughing, choking on smoke, gasping for air that tasted like ash and blood and the end of the world.
“Jason!”
You were throwing bricks aside with shaking hands, ripping splintered wood away, ignoring the way your fingers screamed in protest. Bruce was beside you, no, ahead of you, frantic in the way only he ever allowed himself to be when no one was supposed to see.
You helped him dig. You had to.
Because he had to be okay.
He had to be.
You told yourself that over and over like prayer, like religion, like if you said it enough times reality would get embarrassed and obey.
He’s okay.
He’s okay.
He’s okay.
You ignored the silence where that strange second heartbeat used to be. You ignored it because you had to.
Because if you listened too closely, you would hear nothing.
And then,
you saw him.
Jason 'Peter' Todd.
He was still....The world narrowed into something tiny and cruel.
Bruce got to him first, dropping to his knees so hard it looked painful, hands shaking, Bruce’s hands shaking, as he lifted Jason from the wreckage like if he was careful enough, gentle enough, it would undo everything.
Jason’s head lolled against him.
Wrong.
Everything was wrong.
There are moments in life where the universe splits into before and after, and you know, instantly, that nothing after this will ever resemble what came before.
This was one of them.
“No.”
The word came out small.
Pathetic.
“No… no, no, no-”
"Jason..."
Bruce closed his eyes.
And that was worse than anything.
Because Bruce never closed his eyes unless he already knew.
“Jason!” you screamed, stumbling forward so fast you nearly fell. “Jason-!”
Your voice was breaking apart. Your chest felt like it was being hollowed out from the inside.
“Batman-”
No.
No, not Batman.
“Bruce!”
He looked at you, and you hated that look. You hated it. That grief. That silence. That terrible, adult understanding.
“ANSWER ME! IS HE OKAY?!”
Your voice echoed off the ruin.
Nothing.
“Batman-Bruce-BRUCE, PLEASE!”
You were crying so hard the words barely survived your mouth.
“Let’s go to a hospital, please, please, we can still-we can still fix this, we can-Jason, Jason-!”
You dropped beside them, your hands grabbing at Jason’s jacket, his shoulders, anything, like if you held on hard enough he couldn’t leave.
“JASON! JASON-!”
Your throat burned raw.
“JASONNNNNNN-!”
It tore out of you ugly and animal and helpless. just grief in its purest form, loud and unbearable and humiliating. You screamed until your voice cracked into something broken, until it became sobbing, until even breathing hurt.
Bruce finally collapsed with him still in his arms, falling to his knees like the weight of Gotham and grief had finally become too much for one man to carry.
And you crawled closer, You were shaking, You were crying.
You pressed yourself against Jason, desperate, frantic, and put your ear against his chest.
Because no. Because maybe Bruce was wrong. Because maybe everyone was wrong.
Your own heart beat against your ribs like a thief.
His should have been there.
...........
...........................
It wasn’t.
You tried to go to him.
That was all that mattered.
Not the fire still licking at the ruins, not Bruce on his knees with Jason in his arms, not the blood on your feet or the smoke in your lungs or the way your whole body felt like it had already started dying hours ago.
And then that thing came back.
Cold.
Not around you.
Inside you.
It struck so suddenly your breath cut short. Your body locked. Your knees hit the ground hard enough to bruise, but you barely felt it because something else was happening.
It felt like drowning standing up.
Like invisible water filling your lungs. Like the ocean had remembered your name and come back to collect.
That jellyfish thing, if it was even a jellyfish, if your mind hadn’t just forced a pretty word onto something monstrous, wrapped itself around your ribs from the inside.
Its lappets, long, ribbon-thin, ghost-pale curled through your vision.
You could see them. You could feel them.
They moved like silk underwater, brushing against your skin, your throat, your heart. Gentle in the way poison is gentle. Tender in the way death is patient.
You gasped and nothing came out. Bruce shouted your name somewhere far away.
You couldn’t answer. Because those things were reaching.
Not for you. For Jason.
Even now.
Even like this.
You remember one of those translucent, awful limbs stretching toward him like devotion.
And then-
nothing.
Again.
You fainted before your body could decide whether it wanted to survive.
Apparently, there was a god inside you
Funny.
Something half-dead and sea-born and cruel curled in your chest where a normal person probably kept their sense of peace.
Something explained it to you later, half-whispers voices lowered like saying it too loud might wake whatever was sleeping inside your ribs. Something old had attached itself to you. A deity, maybe. A monster, definitely. Something the Joker had apparently found amusing.
Because of course he did.
Of course the Joker couldn’t just hurt Jason. He had to make you part of the punchline too.
A crueler joke.
You didn’t care.
Let it.
Let it hollow you out.
Let it consume every organ, every nerve, every stupid hopeful part of you that still thought life was kind.
Maybe it would kill you too.
Good.
You didn’t care what happened to you.
Not really.
Not after Jason.
(Batman didn't know)
When you woke up again, for a few beautiful, stupid seconds, you thought it had all been a nightmare, You stared at the ceiling
Room...? Your Room? And your first thought was relief.
Oh.
Thank God.
It was just a dream.
Jason’s fine.
You can still call him stupid for running off. You can still scream at him. You can still hear him laugh.
You can still- Then you turned your head.
And Bruce was sitting there. Still looking at you like grief had made a permanent home behind his eyes.
And you knew.
Before anyone said anything.
You knew.
Because hope is loud, for a room that is silent.
You saw the death certificate, It wasn't the death certificate of Robin The Boy Wonder, but It was the dead of Jason 'Peter' Todd, Of course.
You wish you hadn’t.
You stared at it too long, like if you looked hard enough the letters would rearrange themselves into mercy.
Jason Peter Todd, Like paperwork had any right to summarize a person.
Your eyes dropped lower.
Asphyxiation due to smoke.
As Jason Todd.
But- As Robin?
It was worse than you thought, and the report didn’t even try to soften it. blunt force trauma, repeated assault, like it was describing damage to an object instead of what had been done to him, like the distance in the words could make it easier to swallow. It didn’t. You kept reading anyway, because stopping would mean accepting it, and somehow that felt worse.
Could have been a crowbar they said.
Your eyes caught on that line and refused to move. You read it once, then again, then again, like repetition might grind it down into something less monstrous.
It didn’t change. It only sank deeper, heavier every time your mind circled back to it. Crowbar. A simple word, ordinary, something you could find in a toolbox.
But-
The names slipped over each other until you couldn’t hold them apart. Robin, who had been something bright and untouchable to you, a symbol, a hero you could believe in.
Jason, who the world never really knew, just Bruce Wayne’s adopted son, the one they said died in a fire, wrapped neatly in smoke and tragedy that people could understand without looking too closely.
You hated that you could picture it. You hated that you couldn’t stop.
Jason when you ran after him. Jason fighting the Joker. Losing. Jason angry and terrified and refusing to beg. Jason hurt. Jason beaten. Jason alone. Jason dead.
BECAUSE OF YOU.BECAUSE OF YOU.BECAUSE OF YOU.BECAUSE OF YOU.BECAUSE OF YOU.BECAUSE OF YOU.BECAUSE OF YOU.BECAUSE OF YOU.BECAUSE OF YOU.BECAUSE OF YOU.BECAUSE OF YOU.
You stared until the page blurred.
Your hands were shaking so badly the paper rattled.
This was your fault. That thought rooted itself in your chest and refused to leave.
If Bruce hadn’t saved you first- if he had gone for Jason first- if you had been faster- if you had done anything-
maybe.
Maybe.
MAYBE.
Grief loves that word. Maybe.
It feeds on it.
You let it.
The funeral was a blur of black fabric and polite voices and people trying not to look directly at the tragedy.
You remember being dressed in black like someone dressing a doll.
Move your arm. Stand here. Sit down. Breathe.
You obeyed because fighting required energy and grief had eaten all of yours. You barely spoke.
Maybe not at all.
You remember Dick’s voice once, quiet, talking to Barbara like if he said it softly enough you wouldn’t hear.
“Maybe we should try to talk, They look-.”
Barbara tried to talk to you. She sat beside you. Gentle. Careful. Like approaching a wounded animal.
It didn’t help. Nothing helped.
Bruce looked like a man carrying a coffin inside his chest.
Alfred tried. God, Alfred tried. Tea left untouched. Soft words. A hand on your shoulder. The kind of care so steady it almost made it worse.
Because everyone was trying so hard to keep the house standing while it was already burning.
And you-
you couldn’t even explain what was wrong with you.
How could you?
How do you say there is something in me and it feels like the ocean and I think I died down there and maybe part of me never came back?
How do you say I think I took Why did you save me? Why not Jason? Why is that Monster alive instead of Jason?-
why is his name the one that stopped while that monster's name keeps going, why him, over and over and over again, why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him.why him?
How do you say I am still alive and that feels like the cruelest thing anyone has ever done to me?
So you said nothing.
You just cried. Then like your body had decided tears were the only language left. At the cemetery, the sky was grey and miserable, like even Gotham understood the assignment.
You stood there with dirt under your nails and black on your body and grief so heavy it made your bones ache.
They lowered him into the ground.
And that was it. That was the part your mind kept refusing to understand.
Because funerals are absurd.
How can someone be alive, loud, warm, furious, and then suddenly they are a box and flowers and everyone speaking in past tense?
You cried when they buried him.
Shakes your whole body. The kind that leaves your throat raw and your face ruined and your dignity somewhere six feet under with the person you loved.
And then you looked at the stone.
JASON TODD ALLY AND FRIEND
Your Child Sweet Heart Everything.
You stared at it until the words stopped meaning language and became something worse.
Proof. Finality. He was gone.
A knife with letters carved into it. You dropped to your knees in front of it. Your hands pressed against the cold stone.
And for one terrible second it felt like that jellyfish thing inside you stirred like even it was mourning. You cried harder. Because Jason was gone. Because you were still here. Because the world had the audacity to keep spinning. Because somewhere inside your chest, beneath your own broken heartbeat, the ghost of his still ached. And because no matter how much you begged, he was not coming back.
It was all something wasn't it? That- Monster. He should die.
The fight with Batman was inevitable.
Maybe it had started the second he pulled you out instead of Jason Todd. Maybe it had started the moment you saw the death certificate, or the grave, or the way Bruce kept looking at you like grief was something he could quietly carry for both of you if he just stood still enough.
Maybe it had always been coming. Either way, it happened in the cave.
Of course it did. Everything ugly in that family eventually found its way underground.
You were standing there with your fists clenched so tight your nails had bitten crescents into your palms, staring at him across all that cold stone and machinery and history.
“I’m going to kill him.”
Your voice didn’t shake.
That was the worst part. You were calm.
Bruce stood there in the half-dark, cape hanging heavy from his shoulders, looking older than you had ever seen him.
“No.”
Just that.
No.
Like the universe could be held together by one stupid syllable.
You laughed. It sounded wrong.
“No?”
Your voice rose then, cracking at the edges.
“He didn’t just hurt Jason… he beat him down until he couldn’t fight back anymore, even now I think he must have tried until his last breath. Then left him trapped, choking on the smoke until it took his last breath.”
Bruce said nothing. You stepped closer.
“He tortured him. He made him suffer. He made him feel pain. He killed him and you’re telling me no?”
“[Name].”
“No, don’t do that,” you snapped. “Don’t use that voice. Don’t do the disappointed father thing like I’m the one doing something wrong. Batman- No. Bruce, You adopted him, when I heard the news, I remember his face still He was so happy.... He was Robin. Your sidekick He was Boy Wonder, The wonder of this entire manor, He was...your son. Joker, Killed Your Son. My Jason.”
His jaw tightened. “If you kill him-”
“When,” you corrected.
“When I kill him.”
“-then he wins.”
You stared at him. Because suddenly you understood something awful.
You understood that he meant it.
That somewhere inside all that grief and all that pain, Bruce still believed in rules. Still believed in lines you weren’t supposed to cross. Still believed the Joker deserved the dignity of surviving.
Your laugh came back, uglier this time.
“Jason is dead.”
You could hear the Batcomputer humming. The cave breathing around you.
You stepped even closer.
“And you’re still protecting him.”
“I am protecting you.”
“No,” you said, and your voice broke so softly it almost hurt more than shouting, “you’re protecting your idea of yourself.”
Bruce flinched. Barely. But you saw it.
Good, You wanted him to hurt. You wanted everyone to hurt.
“I loved him too,” Bruce said.
And maybe that should have mattered. Maybe on another day it would have.
But grief had made you cruel.
“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one acting like it?”
The silence after that was catastrophic.
You wished he would yell. You wished he would grab you, shake you, anything.
Instead he just stood there, looking tired in that ancient way only Bruce Wayne could manage, like sorrow had settled into the architecture of him.
And somehow that made it worse. Because you couldn’t hate Batman enough when Bruce looked like that.
You hated that. You hated him. You hated yourself for not hating him enough.
You couldn’t say anything else. If you stayed, you’d either scream or collapse.
So you ran.
Again.
You were getting good at that.
Wayne Manor became unbearable after Jason.
Every hallway felt like memory. Every staircase sounded like footsteps that would never come back. Every room looked like it was waiting for someone who was already in the ground.
You couldn’t breathe there. So you left. No dramatic goodbye.
No note.
Just a bag, too little money, and the kind of stubborn grief that convinces a teenager they can survive anything.
You found a crappy apartment because of course you did.
Tiny kitchen. Worse plumbing. A window that stuck in summer and rattled in winter. Neighbors that screamed at each other through paper-thin walls and a landlord who looked like he’d personally fistfight God for twenty dollars.
It was perfect. It was yours.
And most importantly, it wasn’t the Manor.
It didn’t smell like ghosts.
You slept on a mattress on the floor for the first month and called it freedom Sometimes freedom looks suspiciously like being miserable on purpose.
Still.
It was better.
Dick Grayson found you, obviously. Because Dick had this irritating habit of loving people against their will.
He showed up with groceries and that older-brother look on his face-the one that said I’m trying very hard not to lecture you.
You let him in because saying no to Dick always felt like kicking a puppy.
He stood in your kitchen, looking around at the apartment like he was trying very hard to decide whether to insult it or pity it.
“…Wow,” he said finally.
“Be nice.”
“I was going to say cozy.”
“You were going to say tetanus.”
“I was.”
You almost smiled. He set the groceries down.
There was quiet for a moment. Then, softer, “Bruce is worried.”
You leaned against the counter.
“I’m tired, Dick.”
The kind of tired that settled in your bones and made even existing feel like manual labor.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to come back.”
Dick nodded like he’d expected that.
“I figured.”
You looked down at your hands.
“I don’t want to disrespect him. I don’t.”
Because that was the worst part.
You thought Batman’s ideals were bullshit. You thought his morality was a cathedral built on denial and self-punishment. You thought refusing to kill monsters while burying children was maybe the stupidest philosophy Gotham had ever produced.
But Bruce-
Bruce was still Bruce.
Still the man who carried you half-dead from the sea. Still the man who looked at Jason’s coffin like it had taken his own heartbeat with it. You understand some of his pain. Losing people you love. You wonder, if he will even keep anyone close.
You didn’t hate Bruce. You hated Batman.
And sometimes they wore the same face.
“I think his ideals suck,” you admitted, voice low. “I think he’s wrong. I think if I ever get my hands on the Joker, I won’t stop.”
Dick was quiet.
“But?”
You swallowed.
“But I don’t know if Jason would want that.”
Because Jason had been angry. Reckless. Wild with it. But he had also laughed. Loved. Stayed soft in places no one gave him credit for.
Would he want blood?
Maybe.
Would he want yours? That answer hurt more. No, Maybe not. Some part of you says- maybe he will- He-
Dick sighed and stepped closer, resting a hand on your shoulder.
“I’ll still visit.”
You nodded. Because thank God for that. Because losing someone had already turned your world into a funeral. You weren’t sure you could survive losing another.
Over time, the jellyfish multiplied. At first it was one. Then two. Then five.
Small things, drifting around your apartment like living ghosts. Translucent, glowing faintly in the dark, lappets trailing behind them like silk ribbons in water. They floated around your head while you made coffee. Curled around your wrists when you couldn’t sleep. Hovered near the ceiling like chandeliers built by something ancient and hungry.
Most people couldn’t see them.
Thank God.
Because explaining the haunted aquarium of your personal life sounded exhausting.
Sometimes they brushed against your cheek, cold and familiar.
Sometimes they wrapped around your ankles like affection.
You started talking to them. At first as a joke.
Then because silence was worse.
Then because, somehow, they answered, not in words but in feeling. In instinct. In the strange pulse beneath your own pulse.
Comfort. Hunger. Protection. Grief.
They became… not friends, exactly. But not monsters either.
Companions.
Proof that you were not entirely alone in your own body. And somewhere along the way, you realized the truth.
The god inside you hadn’t chosen you by accident.
You were a vessel.
A host.
A body built to carry something old and hungry and divine in the worst possible way.
That realization terrified you. Because power is one thing. Being eaten by it is another. You didn’t know what it wanted. You didn’t know what it would become. Sometimes you let it take control anyway. Sometimes Gotham handed you a criminal so rotten that your own morality went quiet.
And the jellyfish would gather. And the thing inside you would open its many-eyed mouth. And people would disappear. Fed to something nameless in an alleyway.
You told yourself they deserved it.
Sometimes they did.
Sometimes you didn’t ask too many questions.
You won’t lie, you wanted Gotham drowning.
You wanted the criminals flooding alleyways in red rivers. You wanted the city to choke on its own rot. You wanted the Joker split open, smiling all the way through it, wanted to reach inside him and pull out every laugh like string from a cheap toy.
You wanted to gut him.
Slowly.
Personally.
But he would laugh.
Of course he would.
And Batman would probably look at the body like you were the tragedy instead.
That thought made you sick.
You didn’t know when hatred had settled there.
You hated Batman.
You hated the symbol. The rules. The impossible morality that demanded children die noble deaths while monsters kept breathing.
But Bruce-
Bruce was still a man sitting alone in a too-big house with one son buried and another one disappearing.
Bruce was still someone sad. And maybe that was the cruelest part. Because monsters are easy to hate. Grieving fathers are not.
Batman started visiting after that.
Bruce Wayne might show up with concern and coffee and the kind of silence that asked permission before entering a room, but Batman-Batman arrived like weather. Quiet. Sudden. Usually standing somewhere in your apartment that absolutely should have required a locked door.
The first time, you nearly threw a knife at him.
He stood by your shitty little window, cape swallowing half the room, looking profoundly out of place next to your flickering kitchen light and your dying houseplant.
“You need better locks,” he said.
You were halfway through a cup of coffee and halfway to a heart attack.
“You need a hobby.”
His eyes moved over you.
He had that look again- that terrible, quiet suspicion. Like he could feel the wrongness in you even if he couldn’t name it. He couldn’t see the jellyfish yet, thank God, but sometimes you thought he could hear the ocean when you stood too close.
Something in you always went still around him. Like the thing inside your ribs recognized predator.
Or kin.
You hated that. You leaned against the counter, tired already.
“If this is about me leaving the Manor, I’m not coming back.”
“I know.”
Of course he knew. Bruce always knew.
That didn’t make it less irritating.
“Just because I quit living in your haunted mansion doesn’t mean I quit fighting.”
His expression didn’t change.
“I know that too.”
“Good.”
He stepped forward then, and from somewhere beneath all that dramatic bat-themed nonsense, he placed a small pile of gadgets on your counter. Smoke pellets. A grappling device modified smaller for your hands. Emergency medical patches. Useful things. Quiet gifts.
And then a small remote.
Black. Simple.
You stared at it.
“If you need help,” he said, “press it.”
You looked up.
“Bruce-”
“It connects directly to the Cave.”
His voice was flat, practical, but there was something under it. Please survive, translated into Batman.
You swallowed.
Because gratitude felt too vulnerable and anger was getting exhausting.
“...Thank you.”
He gave a short nod like accepting thanks was physically painful.
There was silence for a moment. Then, because maybe grief had made you stupid, maybe because honesty felt easier when neither of you were looking directly at each other, Suddenly he said.
“And if you ever come across something strange… criminals going missing, weird reports, bodies that aren’t bodies anymore…”
His gaze sharpened.
“You can report it." He said.
God, being observed by him felt like being dissected.
“And will I find something I need to report?”
You took a sip of coffee like your life depended on it.
“Oh, I will.”
A beat. Bruce almost looked amused. But close enough to haunt you.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
And then he was gone. Just like that.
Before you could decide whether you were relieved or offended.
Typical No matter what else changed, you still visited Jason.
Always.
Some habits become religion.
His grave sat under Gotham’s permanently miserable sky, the kind of place that made umbrellas feel less like accessories and more like survival instinct. You always brought one. Not because you cared about the rain, but because being soaked while having an emotional breakdown in public felt like losing a battle you didn’t need to fight.
Be a good human.
Carry an umbrella. Cry with dignity. That was the rule.
You visited with flowers. Fresh ones. Never empty-handed. Sometimes gifts.
You learned, somewhere between grief, that Jason liked anything best. Loud things. Things with color like a warning label. So roses, sometimes- though that felt too romantic, too funeral-poet dramatic, and Jason would probably call you a loser for it.
Tulips, when you could find them. Wildflowers when you couldn’t. And sometimes, because grief makes people ridiculous, you brought stupid things too. A chili dog once.
Because you’d heard him mention it years ago, laughing around a mouthful of fries, complaining that rich people never understood the spiritual necessity of cheap garbage food. Jason liked chili dogs, burgers, apparently. And bread. Anything stupidly normal and warm and alive.
You left it there and sat in the grass like an idiot.
“Don’t laugh,” you told the gravestone.
The jellyfish floated around you in the rain, soft glowing ghosts beneath the grey sky. Five of them now, maybe more if you counted the smaller ones hiding in your apartment plants like they paid rent.
They drifted around Jason’s grave too. They respected, wow. Like even ancient sea-gods understood mourning.
You’d kneel there, black umbrella tilted over your shoulder, flowers in one hand, your other pressed against the cold stone.... Shit.
You still hated reading it. You always would. Sometimes you talked. Not big speeches. Jason would’ve mocked you from the afterlife.
"Just little things. Dick visited. Alfred made soup and pretended it wasn’t because he was worried. Bruce still looks like someone stole his bones."
"I punched a guy last week and honestly he deserved worse. Jason,,,"
"The landlord still sucks."
"I think I’m haunted."
You know. Casual.
Sometimes you cried. Sometimes you just sat there in silence, listening to rain hit your umbrella like static. Sometimes you swore you could still feel that phantom second heartbeat, weak and distant and impossible, like grief had taught your body a rhythm it refused to forget.
And every time you left, you stood there for a second too long. Like maybe if you waited- if you were good enough, grieving enough, guilty enough-
he’d come back. He never did. Of course he didn’t.
That wasn’t how death worked. That was just how hope punished people.
So you’d adjust your umbrella, wipe your face before anyone could accuse you of having emotions, and walk back into Gotham.
Back into alleys and blood and Batman and the thing living inside your chest. Back into surviving. Because Jason couldn’t.
Five years passed. Which is a cruel sentence, really.
Passed implies movement. Progress. Some noble sense of healing.
It wasn’t that. It was survival with better posture.
It was learning how to breathe around the missing piece. Learning how to laugh without immediately feeling guilty after. Learning how to wake up and not expect grief to be sitting on your chest like a second skeleton.
You were older now. No better, Just older.
Old enough for Gotham to stop looking at you like a grieving child and start looking at you like something else.
A hidden villain. Funny, considering you never really meant to become one.
You weren’t out there building dramatic monologues or themed hideouts or whatever Gotham’s freak population considered networking. You weren’t trying to be anyone’s nemesis.
You just had… responsibilities.
Because apparently the eldritch jellyfish horrors haunting your life were your children now.
Your children. You still didn’t understand what cosmic joke had landed you there.
At some point the small drifting things stopped feeling like parasites and started feeling like dependents. They followed you everywhere- five, sometimes seven, depending on the week- glowing softly around your apartment like cursed nightlights.
They got hungry.
And when they got hungry, things got… messy. They would brush against your arms, cold and insistent, lappets curling around your wrists like tiny manipulative hands.
Feed us.
Not in words. Never words.
But you understood. Of course you did.
A god had made you its vessel; apparently parenthood came free with purchase.
So yes. Sometimes criminals went missing. Sometimes alleyways looked like abstract art in red.
Sometimes Gotham whispered about something in the dark, something that left no body and too much blood.
And sometimes you stood in your kitchen at three in the morning, feeding your weird sea-monster children pieces of..... who absolutely deserved it, wondering where exactly your guidance counselor had gone wrong.
Life was strange. At least school was over. Technically. You had dropped out.
Because your life was shit, and algebra had lost the battle for your attention somewhere around the first funeral.
No one was surprised. Alfred was disappointed in that quiet British way that somehow hurt worse than yelling.
Dick tried to bribe you back into education. Bruce gave you one Look and somehow made you feel like a tax fraud.
You ignored all of them.
Congratulations. Your diploma was now crime.
You still visited Jason. Always. That never changed.
Rain or shine or Gotham deciding to reenact the apocalypse for dramatic effect, you showed up.
Flower in hand. Umbrella if you were pretending to be emotionally stable. This time it was red tulips.
You crouched by the grave, setting them down carefully, fingers brushing the stone like muscle memory.
“Hey, pretty boy.”
Your voice was quieter these days.
“I’m still alive, unfortunately.”
The jellyfish hovered nearby, drifting slow in the cemetery air like little funeral lanterns. They were always gentler here.
You stayed awhile. Told him about Dick being annoying. About Bruce still looking like he hadn’t slept since the Clinton administration.
About how one of your children, God, you hated calling them that, had tried to eat your landlord and honestly, you had considered allowing it.
You sat with him until the silence started feeling too loud. Then you stood, brushed dirt from your clothes, and left.
Like always. Because grief is routine before it is closure.
The alleyway smelled like piss. Very Gotham.
You were halfway through lighting a cigarette you absolutely did not need when you felt it. That shift in the air.
Predator. You looked behind you.
Two guys. Thugs. Cheap suits. Cheap anger. The kind of men who mistook cruelty for personality.
One of them called out.
“Hey, idiot.”
You sighed. There was no respect for mourning these days.
“Where’s Jimmy?”
You didn’t turn around.
Honestly, if Jimmy was important, you would have remembered him.
“He left that day to deal with you,” the second one snapped. “What did you do to him?”
“Honestly? Couldn’t tell you. A lot of people make bad decisions around me.”
That earned you a gun shoved hard between your shoulders.
Ah.
There it was.
Classic.
“Don’t get smart.”
Too late for that.
They pushed you deeper into the alley, your shoes scraping wet pavement. You coughed once, more annoyed than afraid, and turned your head just enough to look at the gun from the corner of your eye.
Deadpan.
Empty.
You really didn’t care.
Maybe that was the frightening part.
Two years ago, you would have panicked.
Now?
Now you were mostly irritated they’d interrupted your cemetery depression.
Before you could decide whether to let your pets handle it or simply bite someone out of spite-
Gunshot.
Immediate.
The man behind you stopped existing correctly. His head snapped back, body collapsing like God had cut the strings. Blood splattered warm across your face.
For a second, everything stilled.
You shoved the corpse off you with a grimace.
“…What the fuck.”
The other thug stared.
“What the-?!”
His voice cracked. Good. He stumbled back, wild-eyed, pointing at you like you had personally offended him.
“Enough of this shit!”
Sweet. Love the energy. Before he could fire, your jellyfish moved. Your dear, horrible little pets.
They drifted forward like moonlight over water, almost beautiful.
He screamed when they touched him. Because sting was too soft a word. Their lappets wrapped around his throat, his wrists, his mouth- translucent ribbons of divine cruelty. Venom, maybe. Hunger, definitely.
He clawed at them. It didn’t matter.
You watched, as they stung him to death.
Slowly. Tenderly. Like children showing off for a parent. Then he was gone too.
You wiped blood from your face.
Of course you took some of them alive.
You weren’t stupid.
Information mattered. Gotham didn’t run on chaos—it ran on networks, whispers, who answered to who and who got buried when they stopped answering. You dragged the worst ones somewhere quiet, asked your questions, and when they gave you answers you passed some of it along to Batman.
You weren’t that naïve anymore.
And the ones who didn’t talk, or the ones who did and were still vile enough to make your skin crawl- you kept.
Your children had to eat. Bruce wouldn’t approve.
That thought barely registered anymore.
Because Bruce didn’t live with the hunger inside your ribs.
Bruce didn’t hear them at night. Bruce didn’t feel that cold, endless ocean curling through his veins asking for just one more.
So yes.
You fed them. You survived. You adapted. That’s what Gotham did to you.
But this?
This was different. You stared at the body that had dropped seconds before you could act, the clean precision of the shot, the angle- professional. Controlled.
Turning blood into something diluted and streaked across the pavement. You stepped back, lifting your umbrella almost automatically, eyes scanning the rooftops.
Because someone else was here. Someone who had been here before.
You’d seen it twice now-
men who should’ve been your problem taken out before they could even touch you. Sniper shots. Clean. Efficient. Interference.
Your gaze caught something then. a flicker of movement across the edge of a nearby building.
A figure. Broad shoulders.
A helmet.
Red.
Your breath hitched. You knew that silhouette. No-no, that wasn’t possible.
Before your brain could catch up, they were gone.
Just… gone. Like a ghost deciding you weren’t worth haunting yet.
“What the hell…?”
You barely got the words out before the air shifted again. This time it was closer.
A presence dropping into the alley like gravity itself had changed its mind.
“I wouldn’t stand there if I were you.”
You turned sharply.
More men poured into the alley behind you-armed, loud, angry. Black Mask’s goons, no question about it, their confidence returning now that they outnumbered you again.
But your attention snagged on him. The man in the red helmet. Standing like he owned the space.
Like the rain bent around him instead of touching him. He lifted a finger toward you without looking.
A quiet signal.
Wait.
Don’t.
You stiffened.
Who the hell did he think he was?
“Found you, you shit,” one of the men snarled, gun raised. “The snitcher. Black Mask’s gonna laugh when we show him your head.”
Your children stirred.
You felt them before you saw them five small shapes drifting into formation around you, their glow dimming, sharpening, hungry.
Ready.
Always ready.
But before they could strike, the red-helmeted man moved.
Fast.
God fast.
One second he was still, the next he was in them, dismantling the group like it was muscle memory. Brutal. Efficient. No wasted motion. He fought like someone who didn’t believe in holding back.
“Who’s he?” one of the thugs shouted.
“Attack him!”
They tried.
It didn’t go well.
You watched for half a second, then clicked your tongue.
“Alright,” you muttered, adjusting your umbrella, “children, go play nice.”
Your jellyfish surged forward.
They wrapped around wrists, throats, weapons glowing threads of something unnatural weaving through the fight. One of the men screamed as they stung him, dropping his gun, collapsing like his body had forgotten how to function.
The red-helmeted man paused mid-strike just long enough to glance at them.
At your children.
At you.
“…Huh.”
That was all he said.
Then he kept fighting.
Together, the alley turned into chaos—gunshots, bodies dropping, your children weaving through it all like executioners in soft, glowing silk.
It ended quickly.
It always did.
When the last man hit the ground, twitching and done, the rain felt louder.
The alley smelled like iron and stormwater.
And suddenly, it was just you and him.
He turned toward you slowly.
Up close, the helmet was worse.
Red. Smooth. Expressionless.
But you could feel his gaze anyway.
Heavy.
Interested.
Annoyingly curious.
Your grip tightened on your umbrella.
“…You’re staring,” you said flatly.
“Yeah,” he replied, voice filtered through the helmet, rough with something that almost sounded like amusement. “I tend to do that when someone brings glow-in-the-dark sea monsters to a gunfight.”
You blinked.
“What?”
He tilted his head slightly.
“The jellyfish.”
Your stomach dropped.
“How can you see them?”
That slipped out before you could stop it.
Because no one saw them.
No one.
He paused.
“…See what?”
You went still.
Slowly, carefully, you took a step back.
Your children hovered closer to you, protective, sensing the shift.
“You just said-”
“I said I saw something,” he cut in, shrugging one shoulder. “Figured jellyfish was a good guess. Didn’t think I’d hit the mark.”
He was lying.
Or half-lying.
Or guessing too well.
Either way, you didn’t like it. You didn’t trust it. And in Gotham, that instinct usually kept you breathing.
“Right,” you said, your voice cooling instantly. “Congratulations. Want a medal?”
He huffed out a laugh, low and rough, like humor came easy to him even when it shouldn’t.
“Tempting,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “but I think I’ll settle for not getting stung to death by your… pets.”
Your children stirred at that. One of them drifted a little closer to him, its soft glow pulsing faintly, curious or irritated you couldn’t tell which.
“Watch it,” you muttered, your tone edged sharp as broken glass. “Don’t poke your nose where it doesn’t belong. They might get you. And I wouldn’t count on Batman to save you in time.”
That earned you another quiet chuckle.
“Yeah?” he said. “Guess I’ll add ‘death by haunted aquarium’ to the list of ways I might go. Wouldn’t even crack my top ten.”
You stared at him.
Because what kind of person talked like that?
Who stood in a blood-soaked alley, surrounded by bodies, and joked like it was just another Tuesday?
Who flirted like that?
Who was he?
He seemed to read the question right off your face.
“Oh well,” he added lightly, gesturing vaguely toward the drifting shapes around you, “guess I’ll call you Jelly. Seems fitting.”
You blinked.
“…No.”
“Too late. It’s sticking.”
“I hate you.”
“Wow,” he said, placing a hand dramatically over where his heart should be, “we just met.”
You didn’t respond. You just kept staring, trying to piece him together his stance, his voice, the way he moved. There was something familiar about it, something that made the back of your mind itch in a way you couldn’t place.
He didn’t give you time to figure it out.
“Anyway,” he continued, glancing up briefly as the rain picked up, “Gotham’s about to get a whole lot worse. You might wanna take a vacation. Somewhere without alleys. Or psychos. Or me.”
You scoffed softly. “I’ll pass.”
“Your funeral.”
He turned like he was about to leave again, like vanishing was just part of his personality but something in you snapped before he could.
“Hey,” you called after him, sharper than you meant to. “Batman is gonna kick your ass if you keep pulling stunts like this.”
That made him stop.
Slowly, he turned back.
And then he walked toward you.
You didn’t move.
Didn’t step back until there was nowhere left to go, your spine hitting the damp brick wall behind you, the cold seeping through your clothes as he closed the distance between you.
Up close, he was worse.
Taller than you expected. Broader. The red helmet gleaming like something alive, something watching you even without eyes.
Your children shifted, restless, brushing against your shoulders like they were debating whether to attack.
He didn’t seem bothered.
He leaned in just enough to invade your space, voice dropping lower, rougher, threaded with something that almost sounded like a smile.
“I’m looking forward to it,” he said.
Your breath hitched.
He tilted his head slightly, like he was studying you again, memorizing something.
“You should get outta Gotham for a while,” he added, softer this time, but no less sharp. “All this glooming? Doesn’t suit you.”
Then he stepped back.
Just like that.
Space returned. Air. Distance.
Before you could respond, before you could even decide what you wanted to say he was already turning away, disappearing into the rain like he’d never been there in the first place.
Again.
You stood there for a long moment, back still against the wall, your umbrella forgotten at your side, your children drifting closer as if to fill the space he’d left behind.
Your heart was beating too fast.
And you hated that.
“…Who the hell is he?” you muttered.
END ── YOU MET HIM AGAIN.
THANK YOU!
PART 2, SOON
The Spiders Web
May 20th 2006
Time: 10:35
The pad of fast-paced, continuous footsteps was the only thing you heard beating in your ears; you knew not where you were running; all you knew was that you had to get to safety somewhere—anywhere. You felt tears pricking your eyes as you sprinted as fast as you could. So, how did you get here in the first place? Well, there's a really long explanation to that! But fear not— there shall be a very long, somewhat dumbed-down explanation to this nonsense, but that depends on whether you want to know about what happened for this to make sense. It may be the same storyline as many other things you read, but there may be a change you won't expect! So, my dear friend, be sure to always expect the unexpected! Now let us begin on this journey, continue with caution, and I hope you decide to continue reading.
Synopsis: When a girl gets bitten by a radioactive spider and loses a friend close to her, what will she do?— "Hey! This is a really odd summary. It's obvious what to do!—" Shut up, this isn't your story [REDACTED]! Anyway, what will the girl do once more villains come to the city of crime? Will she decide to help them, or will she let the big bat handle everything? Keep reading to find out! "This is a very bad intro…" [REDACTED] quit it!
JASON TODD X FEM! SPIDEY! READER
Warnings: slight cursing, possible gore, described sickness, death, injury, throwing up/gagging, teens being teens, mentions of theft (DO NOT DO THAT),
"WAIT—"
A/N: Also, if you'd like to be on the tag-list, just ask me politely! There may be some bad Grammar in here, but I'll keep doing my best to make this good! Also, there will be slow updates— mainly because I have school, and I lose interest in things very quickly if I have to be honest! Also, don't worry about [REDACTED], they just like to talk a lot. They may get their speaking privileges revoked at some point; they interrupt a LOT! Anyway, I hope you have fun reading, and don't forget to like and share this post, and please re-blog! Thank you so so much, reader, and goodbye! ~ sincerely Bunny
ACT I, CHAPTER ONE — MASTERLIST — NEXT
POINT OF VIEW: SECOND PERSON
APRIL 14th, 2006
Time: 7:19
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the noise of the alarm blared in your ears, you groaned tiredly and threw a stuffie at the alarm clock the stuffie hit the clock and the clock fell of of your side table which you shut your eyes and murmured to yourself as you slept comfortably, a small bit of saliva fell from the side of your mouth as your cheek was pressed against the comfort of your soft fluffy pillows, the door opened softly and a older woman walked inside and sat on the side of your bed putting a hand on your shoulder, your back facing the woman. "come on sweetheart you need to get up, that field trip you've been wanting to go to is today." she hummed softly, your eyes shot open and you jumped out of bed fast you did NOT play around with field trips. In fact, you loved going on field trips.
the woman laughed and got up leaving the room so you can get dressed, you grabbed a Batman shirt you had because you like shirts with hero logos on them, you put on some low-rise jeans on of course the belt held the pants up, also the shirt was something that covered you up very well when you'd bend down to pick something up, you looked at your jacket holder thing and there it was, in all its glory a brown leather jacket a friend of yours from Gotham academy got you, you grabbed it and put it on and you got some earrings in the color of them fit your skin and hair color the best along with fitting the outfit. you got on some shoes and a bit of makeup, you then grabbed your school bag and ran out of your room Uncle Ben passed you your lunch and you smiled and hugged him before running out the door Aunt May was in the car and you hopped into the vehicle next to her and she smiled at you, "seems you got up fast, just had to mention the field trip and boom you're up!" Aunt May joked softly, " You hummed, ' can't leave my friends waiting!" You hummed energetically.
She laughed softly as she started to drive you to school. It was very calm, like not much was happening. It was nice in some odd sort of way. Number one, you were pumped to go to school because reason number one, you got the chance to see friends, but also with the field trip today, yeah, field trips are awesome! Wow, there has been much talk about the field trip. How about we leave it at that and mention it again at some point, hopefully.
you glanced at the window letting silence fill the moment, aunt may smiled softly and turned on the radio the music coming into the car having the small melody of jazz fill the car as you looked out the window, your aunt was a woman who loved jazz very much, it was always any kind of jazz in the car, except Dixieland jazz, she didn't like the white-washed jazz. For some reason, the only exception was the princess and the frog's music because they had really good music; it was just the version of jazz she had some pride in. Yeah, she never really was fond of any white-washed music. Louie Armstrong's music played in the background. Usually, you'd talk about anything in the car, but since it was April, you didn't feel inclined to do so (Even if your birthday may be in April for some of you!). It was getting close to a close friend of yours, death. When she pulled up to the school, you opened the door as Aunt May turned down the radio, "Sweetheart, would you like to go to the graveyard today? so you can tell him everything about the field-trip.."Aunt May asked reluctantly, after all, his death was only a year ago, a big open wound that was slowly healing bit by bit. "…Yeah, yeah, I'd like that…" you murmured in response. Aunt May nodded calmly in response.
"Alright, now go to your friends, they must be waiting for you." Aunt May smiled, you smiled back and nodded at her before turning around and running to the school doors waving her a goodbye eagerly, that comment on visiting his grave made you a little sad, yes it was still a very big open wound and you'd rather visit his grave everyday to tell him about your days at the end of the day, but it is what it is, you still went there once a week and yapped to him about your life, your current friends weren't in the picture when he was alive but you tended to tell him everything about meeting them, how your day was, how they are so equally weird with you, it was a very, very nice existence with them around, they made you forget about being all mopey. Yet of course, once the 27th of April and any day after that comes around, that's when you get to show that you're in mourning a lot more, plus they didn't tell you or get mad at you for being more, like a kicked puppy when those days come around. They did get sad with you for some reason; they never met him, so it was curious why they got sad with you.
You shook your head, walking inside the building as you had your satchel swung over your shoulder. One time, you said to him that book bags were overrated, and you just always stuck with that afterwards. You remember he laughed at you, not rudely, of course. It was just something he found, so you had to say that's what made it funny to him, the pure fact that you just said that, oh so proudly and confidently. He never said you were wrong for saying that either, it was just something so funny of you to tell him. You shook your head again, trying to stop yourself from going on a trip to memory lane, which wasn't bad; it was just you wanted to focus on today, but it was still nice to go down a trip to memory lane. When you entered class, you saw your friends gathered around talking, which, since you all had that one class and lunch all together as a group, you all always got in a group together.
Otto looked up, and he seemed pensive, "[Name], we were having a debate on who's going to sit by who on the bus," he said bluntly. You hummed and sat down next to Felicia; she hummed in response. "Yeah, I called dibs on sitting next to you as Max, Dmitri, Eugene, and Otto can sit by each other." She smiled, you hummed and looked at all of them, thinking for a moment, you knew well enough that the whole seating arrangement wouldn't matter, you'd all sit in one big group anyway, so it never mattered. "Why don't you all do rock-paper-scissors? " We all know that I don't care for the seating," you said. Max looked at you as if you were some sort of savior for saying that— Even if the whole seating arrangement would be fine either way. Felicia just preferred to sit by you most of the time; it wasn't because she hated everyone else, and you all collectively knew that it was just a preference thing.
"THANK YOU [NAME]!!!!" Max yelped joyously, his arms going up in the air. You watched as everyone did rock-paper-scissors; the whole seating thing was figured out, finally. When you all walked outside to the buses, you slid into the back seat first, sitting by the window. Felicia slid in second. In front of you, Otto and Eugene sat together, as Dmitri and Max. You all just talked about random things, you mentioned him— Jason Peter Todd, which you just mentioned that you'd visit his grave with Aunt May at the end of the day, you felt so happy about visiting him again, yet what truly upset you was that you'd be unable to see his face and how smiley he'd be. They smiled since you were more chirpy about mentioning him this time around. Felicia was talking about Catwoman and how she looked up to her and found her cool. Dmitri said that he wanted to be a magician and whatnot. Otto said something about itching to make some gadgets. Eugene said something about wanting to be a superhero. Well, the whole conversation was about many different things, without it being about the field trip. You didn't mind, they didn't seem to mind either.
It was nice that the conversations flowed like that; they flowed like a stream most of the time, whether or not you all were talking about people who inspired you or things you wanted to do, conversation came easily between you all. you personally always wanted to do something like what batman does, but you never vocalized that idea, even if Felicia was more than open about doing something like how Catwoman does but instead of jewels and pearls she wanted to steal from the rich, which yes that is a good idea, which at first Felicia was very shy of mentioning that because your best friend was in a rich family, which that was when you all first started getting closer, you were more than fine with her saying something like that. You overall didn't mind anything she or what they told you at all, it was mainly just a small(Big) thing she wanted to do.
When the bus stopped, you all walked out in a file. The teachers just spoke to you all as a group about how you needed to stay together and whatnot. It was fine, it was just mandatory to tell everyone what to do and to make sure they don't goof around. letting out a long sigh you glanced around the whole place and sighed some more, some people were already goofing off a little bit, plus you were wanting to go inside already not exactly a big big problem, after a whole lecture you guys were all finally let inside the building, Otto let out a very ominous giggle.. which that was fine nothing was wrong he was just like that. no one questioned it, yes there was that one time where you all had a sleep over and then next thing you know you heard a maniacal cackle, safe to say it woke absolutely everyone up— turns out he got a small gadget done and working correctly and it was in working order after like… 60 something times.. the scientist at the front was talking to you all and you were talking with Felicia, your voices were held to a mere whisper.
you smiled at her when she made a small quiet joke in your ear, the joke was tame but it was enough to make you giggle a bit, you payed no mind to the small tickle on your arm, you and Felicia just kept joking around softly, and you mentioned a joke to Eugene which he smiled, the joke in question was a science dad-joke. which she and you pointed at Otto and nodded at Eugene to have him tell him the joke, he hummed in response and Eugene went to whisper the joke to Otto, he smiled a bit and looked at you and Felicia, she waved and you smiled at Otto, he seemed to not mind the minor disruption with the joke he looked back ahead, you and Felicia went quiet, a small pinch was felt on your wrist. it hurt quiet a bit and you whacked at whatever had bit you, it stayed hung on for quite a bit before it finally died by itself, it fell from your sleeve after, when you glanced down you saw a small spider, it didn't look venomous, so you just crushed it under your shoe thinking it was a normal spider, everything was fine for hours on end but the time you got back to the school the wave of nausea hit hard.
Everything got dizzy. the room around you was suddenly too hot, it was hard to breathe normally, you felt like your face was red no matter if everyone around you could see it or not, yet you still pulled through school day still wanting to go to the graveyard, to talk to Jason as if he was still there with you, when Aunt May picked you up she took you to the graveyard and you walked out Aunt May still nearby to make sure you wouldn't get hurt. When you got to his grave, you sat down on your knees, your hands wrapped in your lap. You kept quiet for a moment, thinking about what to say and what to tell him about. It was silent for a long moment. It felt like one of those times when you and he would just sit in awkward silence as you both thought about what to talk about.
"Hey Jay, I know it's been like a week, I'm sorry that I wait for once a week to talk to you.. I wish I could talk to you more often, but not much ever happens— somehow, plus it's not efficient to keep showing up every single day. every day.. I— I miss you, you would've loved being around… Otto, Max, Dmitri, Eugene, and Felicia.. sorry, i may be assuming that, but.. they would've loved being around you." you hummed staring at his headstone, you murmured something under your breath and started to tell him all about the field-trip you smiled and told him the joke you and Felicia made, "oh, also this weird spider bit me, it was like.. exactly near my bloodstream.. I thought it was a normal arachnid or something, but once I got back to school, I felt really sick. Like everything felt hot, dizzy, and I felt like I was going to puke all over the place, but I held strong so I could visit you! That may not be the greatest idea, but I like to talk to you even if you're dead… I also started reading The Phantom Of The Opera." You ranted for a while longer before Aunt May walked over to you so she could tell you that you had to go.
"Oh, bye, Jay, miss you forever and ever, and I'll be back next week. Bye, and I hope you are having a decent time in death… i just wish you were still here…" you muttered, when you turned around you saw someone standing there, close enough to hear everything you talked about but far enough to not be noticeable you didn't say a word to your Aunt, you didn't want to worry her, when you walked with her the person didn't follow along with you, so you just kept walking minding your own business, maybe they weren't listening to every single word you said, maybe you're just stressing yourself out for no reason, you are fine, what you said had no real meaning to that person who was… staring at you. Was that guy there every time you were at the graveyard? Everything should be fine, but that sick feeling continued non-stop. Why were your thoughts getting so loud? Your hands were clammy, standing up was doing a lot more negative things to your stomach and immune system at the moment.
on the drive home you sat looking out the window, "May…? I'm not feeling good…" you finally told her, she glanced at you from the corner of her eye, "when did you start not feeling good?" she looked at you assessing your look of discomfort, she had that worried look in her eyes, her brows were furrowed as she stared at your face. "once we got back to school, i didn't want to go to the nurses office because i wanted to come here so i could talk to him.." you said softly, she stared at you a little bit longer but she sighed and nodded in understanding before continuing to drive you both home so you could go to bed and hopefully sleep it all out.
once you got into your room you changed clothes and got into bed, by the time you sat down in bed you leaned back laying on your back as you tugged a trashcan near because you felt like you were going to puke at some point, you made sure to tie your hair up so vomit wouldn't get into the strands of your hair or your bangs, when you fell asleep almost immediately, in your dreams you saw lots and lots of spiders, there was Jason there as you ran from those Arachnids, many different kinds chased, but the ring leader was that spider that bit you.
--------
MEANWHILE
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A boy stood in his room, holding a note that the league had written after an old friend of his had been visiting his grave, the notes were sweet, or since she verbally said it, what had been said was sweet, like really, really sweet, he missed her too of course it was just a lot to not be there with her, she talked about her new friends and how they helped her get over his death in some sort of way, yet she still was mourning for him after all they were close but he couldn't go back to her, when he got dipped into the pit he was of course mad and angry over everything that happened, yet the league kept him around and trained him for some reason.
A part of him thought she was something more than a friend, which Talia did comfort him and say that she was still mourning for him and thinking about him nonstop, yet he still continued to beg her to tell the girl he liked that he was alive and well. Talia, of course, refused to go up to the girl he liked to break the truth to her, that would be a very hard and awkward thing to tell her, plus it would raise too many questions, which got him all droopy, which is a good thing to Talia, because she thought he would quit insisting that they should tell [Name] that he is alive and well.
He kept thinking about it every night. The same thought continued: it was unfair for her to be told absolutely nothing; it was a cruel thing to do to her. Then another letter came in: "Jason, here you go, it's a new note." Talia called out from outside the door, he jumped up and ran to the door opening it and grabbing the note, then he shut the door in Talia's face, those notes were only for him to read basically, but the person who was there does know what the teen girl had said and spoken on. he read the whole thing really fast but once he got to the spider bite part he paused, that was concerning she had gotten bitten by a weird spider.
He just continued reading, and he felt at peace reading those notes every time. It was just something that brought him some sort of peace. It just upset him that she wasn't the one writing that; she was the one saying it, yes, but she was unaware of the whole getting spied on thing. Once he was done, he put the note in a box that was filled with lots of other things she had said to his grave.
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Gotham, April 15th, 2006
Time: 5:28
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Second person POV
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When you woke up, you felt sick, like the horrible kind of sick, which you got up and ran to the bathroom, hunching over the toilet, as you felt the bile rise in your throat, and you started to vomit. it caught you of guard somehow which you just started to wail a little bit, your whole body felt weird, when you held onto the bowl of the toilet as you puked, you heard the door open behind you, Uncle Ben ran on inside worriedly and he just saw you puking your guts out he stumbled over and started rubbing your back in hopes to calm you down at least just a little bit, when you stopped puking you stood up on wobbly legs and went back to your room tiredly.
safe to say you didn't go to school for the rest of the week.
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April 21th 2006
Time: 8:09
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When you sat down, your friends looked at you, and they started asking rapid-fire questions. It was obvious how they were feeling about you being gone and basically dying. Otto was holding you by the shoulders as he asked his questions. It was nice to know they were worried in some sort of way. You smiled and just made an attempt to switch the subject, "Oh, also, there's a fight thing going on tomorrow, we know you like doing that, so we were wondering if you're going to go to the ring to fight." Otto said bluntly, Felicia hit him for saying that, she glared at him like he was her mortal enemy for saying that, "Why are you saying that when she came back after being sick all week, doofus!" Felicia whispered harshly, you watched the scene, genuinely concerned.
"I can go there, to fight," you hummed, smiling a bit. Felicia looked at you as if you were insane, like the most insane person she's ever met. "WHAT?" she hollered. Eugene laughed at Felicia's shock at this whole conversation. "Oh, I forgot to mention mercenaries would be there or something," Otto said. " You still nodded, not caring that you may get hurt. Well, at least you knew now, yet the whole thing didn't exactly matter to you completely. after all you have been fighting in those places for a long long time, so it never exactly a bother to you at all, things just kind of happened back then, it happened around the time Jason died, otherwise you weren't a fighter, but after it happened you just started fighting as a way to learn how to protect yourself also it was a way to get you to stop thinking about his death completely, it was an escape of the world.
when the teacher walked back into the class you sat forward immediately, for some reason with your glasses on it got very blurry for some reason, so you took them off to wipe your eyes, but the blurriness you usually saw without your glasses were gone, you blinked and decided to not wear the glasses, looking over Felicia looked at you a little concerned, "I just want to write blind." you said in a calmish tone, it was one you could manage also you have been lying through your teeth for so long when you'd return home after a fight, Aunt May was always concerned, but Uncle Ben seemed to know exactly what had happened and what you had been doing every night. he had always told you after that once you'd come home late with those bruised knuckles that you never tried to hide: "with great power comes great responsibility" you had that saying echoing in your head constantly.
When night came, you were trying to get inside, but the bouncer said no and that you were kids. "Come on, please?" you insisted. It was the best you could do at the moment. the man shook his head which made you all sigh, then a guy with gray hair, and an eye-patch showed up he was wearing a polo and he had scars, "sorry these kids are with me, they have been dying to see these fights so why not let them inside? don't worry I'll make sure they stay out of trouble." he said smoothly, a part of you tensed up almost immediately. A small ringing in your ears started before going away when you were finally let inside. You sat down, and you felt nervous. Glancing back up at the man, he sat near you, whom you kept silent, very unsettled by him. It was mainly just the unsure feeling of the whole thing. it was just a constant thing that was worrying, it was unsettling, it made the whole sweaty palm feeling as sweat was produced was making you feel more and more unsteady by the minute, the man spoke some more and looked straight at you the look in his eyes said enough, "So, are you here to partake in the fighting or something?" he asked, an eyebrow raised as he was genuinely curious.
"O-oh, yeah, I did come here to do that!" you yelped, as your heart drummed in your ears. Felicia stared at you, rightfully so concerned for you, her friend. The whole thing was just worry central, which Felicia gave a look to everyone else, which helped them pick up on the unsettled feeling you had. Otto got serious and glared quietly. The man then nodded and got up to get you put into one of the matches.
he had noticed something had been off with you, in his eyes you were more like a spider in some way so he got you put into one of the rounds with someone easy to fight, he knew that the one getting ready for incoming battle was a guy who did leave their enemy in a fight alive and what not, one of the big rules there that if a kid were to fight then you should try to talk them out of it, but he wasn't going to do that at all, he was going to get you in so he can see what you can do.
back at the table you were busy getting questioned in hushed words, they sounded concerned for why you were stressing out when he was right there, but when he came back you all went quiet, he spoke to you guys just a bit more and they went quiet after, you put on a ski mask and hoped for the best at this point, then you pulled up you hood once the announcement went off for all contestants to fight he did put a small sticker with Web-Spinner as a name for you, letting out a long sigh you were called up and you got up into the rink area it was like a trampoline in some way, it had cushion to it but it was strung up tightly so it can be used as a mat of some sorts, the guy you were going to fight was dressed as a sumo wrestler while you looked like someone that couldn't fight for anything.
"Web-Spinner, really?" he snarled. You kept quiet and got ready, feet planted to make sure you wouldn't slip and fall at all. When the door closed, you glanced around the place just a bit. It was a metal cage of some sort, like those ones you'd see at a zoo, so monkeys would be kept inside. It was all chains. Glancing back up, you stared at him, waiting for the announcer to tell you to go. Once it started, he ran at you, which you ducked and dashed away as fast as you could. He let out a choked sound once he slammed into the net.
"Is that all you've got?" you taunted calmly, trying to provoke a reaction to tire him out because there was a time when you snuck in and fought there, and you kinda found out that if an opponent gets tired enough and falls, that counts as a win for some reason, so that's what you were planning on doing, to tire this guy out until he faints. You did punch him one time, and that got him down fast, like he was a sack of potatoes. You didn't quite understand what had happened, but all you knew was that you won when that had never happened before, whenever you'd fight. It felt odd when you got out of the rink, the guy was lifted up and taken somewhere to be checked up on. he was still breathing, of course.
After waiting around, which you won every round you had been thrown into, and you were against the last guy, you didn't exactly know what to do, but once the thing was ready, he didn't charge immediately. He did throw a weapon at you, though, which made you duck. He then charged at you, and you jumped out of the way really quickly. The whole thing was just putting you through panic; your hands got sweaty, and you realized that you should've called it quits the second fight. The uneasy feeling just continued after every punch and kick you dodged. That unsteady feeling continued to show up and run back every time. At some point, you just decided to finally punch him as hard as you could to get him down, but there was the sound of a loud crack once you did that. The guy fell down immediately, groaning and in so much pain. It made you jump, and it was really weird to see some guy who's done this fighting for his whole life holding his arm in pain like it was shattered.
He got pulled out of the ring, and a woman came into the rink and grabbed your wrist and held it up as you were wide-eyed, looking around at the people who watched the whole fight. You glanced at your friends, and next, they seemed shocked too. The gray-haired man looked impressed by what had happened. You didn't know what to do or how to feel; all you knew was that this was meant for plain-old fun. Winning felt so weird when in the past you fought just for the fun of it, not to win it. Yes, there were times you won. Of course, there was, it was just when they sucked, and you never ever brought any weapon to a fight, you weren't like that, it was always fair and square to you.
When you were finally let out of the rink, you walked to your friends almost immediately. You hugged them quickly, unsure of what to do because that had never happened to you before, it had absolutely never EVER happened before. But now it seemed like you were strong enough to fight someone way bigger than you. When you got back home, you sat down on your bed tiredly. What happened felt odd, like something big had changed. No, you knew something had changed, and yet you were too scared to admit it; you didn't even notice when you started walking up the wall with ease. When you were upside-down, you finally realized what had happened. You were standing on the ceiling… You were STANDING on the CEILING. Of course you first reaction to the situation would be to scream non-stop, but your aunt and uncle were currently sleeping, and that would wake them up, and no, you did not want to deal with that.
So you decided on trying to pull on your legs in order to be let down from the ceiling, but nope didn't work, so you panicked in utter silence. This whole day was overwhelming for you. First, your eyes started to work without needing glasses, and you had perfect vision now, then the fight where once you punched, they were down, screaming like a bone had been shattered. When panicking only got you to stick more, you just sighed and tried being calm, surprisingly, so it worked, and you fell into your bed with a thud. thinking about it, you decided to test the strength and what you could do. which, while thinking about that, a silver web shot up and stuck to the ceiling. You stared at it and groaned, just deciding to give up and let the day be a you-problem tomorrow, on a Saturday! That would be so fun now, would it?
For now, how about you try to sleep a bit, as if that could solve all of life's problems?
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May 20th, 2006
time: 10:43
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The rest of the story, you as the reader can take a wild guess on what else had happened. Okay, so small run-down: you trained and practiced with your powers, getting the hang of the whole thing in general, a fun thing, it turns out you had super strength, so yes, you possibly— no, you shattered those mercenaries' bones. Then you gained a vigilante name, which was Web-Spinner, and life was fine. You started off with lower-level crooks or something, and let Batman deal with the more serious stuff, yet you haven't even met the guy at all. Plus, that night, you got too caught up and thought you were invincible, which got you seriously hurt, and you had started running for your life in that handmade suit that had absolutely no padding at all.
That was the biggest flaw to that suit, number one, how weak and unstable the so-called suit was, while running, you started to swing from building to building, once you got to a stop, you took off the ski mask and zipped up your jacket up to your chin. You knocked on the door, heaving a bit. You knew your friends were more than upset with you. After all, you bailed on them so many times and lied to them, and they knew you well; they knew how to read you like an open book. along with you lying to them constantly, it got hard on the whole bond, it strained everything you guys built, and you couldn't tell them, which made you cry constantly in your room. You just wanted someone to talk to. You needed someone to talk to.
when the door opened, you saw Otto his brows were furrowed he looked mad at you, of course you didn't blame him, but seeing his face and the others on the couch in the living room behind him just made you tear up. "what do you want [Name]—" before he could finish his sentence that's when the tears fell, one by one. You couldn't stop it; those tears just continued to fall and fall as you started to sob. "I— I'm sorry… I'm so, so, so, so sorry… I'm sorry I lied." You sobbed. He seemed shocked, but he noticed that you were leaving some weight off of your left leg. He then just hauled you inside as fast as he could, getting you to the bathroom so he could help you.
When you sat down on the counter as Otto was trying to comfort you the best he could, "Hey, hey, calm down, I'm going to need you to take off your shorts so I can see the injury," he said, very alarmed at the moment. "I— I can get Felicia, she'd be a better fit for this," he stuttered, a little scared for what's going to happen. he did run out to get Felicia which she came on in and shut the door, helping you to take off your shorts. When she saw the large scrape on the side of your thigh to your calf, that's when she yelled out to everyone go run and grab first aid kits and other things for the injury, she helped you get undressed, and she saw that suit, that red hoodie that had a poorly drawn spider at the front.
"so, this is what you've been hiding this whole time?" she asked her tone soft, she got your underside covered with a towel as she hugged you as you sobbed into her shoulder, "c-can't do it alone anymore—" you repeated as you continued to sob non-stop. she cooed softly as you continued to cry, she knew you needed support and comfort and the whole world around you felt odd and that everything was difficult, you felt bad for it of course but you didn't want them to get hurt plus you didn't want them to drop you as you were vulnerable, you knew they would never do that but it was just that small little blot of insecurity that stayed and remained with you.
When the guys got back, your injury was cleaned out and bandaged up completely. Then, you told them everything, absolutely everything, which they nodded and left to go talk about something together. As you were left on the couch, simply waiting for them to return, when they came back, they sat down all around you, and it was like they were holding an intervention or something along those lines. But then they said those few words of: "If you are going down this path, then we will too." It got you all wide-eyed, and they all looked so sincere for the whole thing. It wasn't that you weren't used to it; the whole thing was just a shock to you. "Wh— What?" you yelped.
"You are digging your grave, so why not let us dig our own with you?" Eugene asked, and he smiled at you shyly. They were joining you. You didn't have to be alone anymore, which you thought about for a moment before looking up and smiling softly, "Okay, thank you, guys, so, so, so much!" you yelped, happy that they wanted to team up with you and help you do vigilante stuff. It was relieving that you didn't have to do it alone ever again.
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please reblog, like, share, and comment!! Feel free to ask to be on the taglist
P.S: please ask to be on the taglist, politely i will also do my best to keep track of everyone on the taglist too!!
Taglist: @ladycandyapple
i am so making you a header for this masterpiece, I LOVE IT SO MUCH
( I WANT TO BE IN TAGLIST TOO )
Hi! I saw that you recently opened your account, do you write one-shots and headcanons too?
hello, yes ! I do ! feel free to send
hello, hello !
so in, this poll batman : under the redhood au won, so I started writing and also finished the graphics for the fanfic (since this will be sort of a series) !
which one is good ? (the watermark is needed, i am sorry i will remove after i start publishing !)
or
also, i’d love to get requests too! feel free to send them in or also you can drop suggestions for the fanfic (under the red hood au, what kind of reader you want, etc.) or anything else. i’m planning on keeping it g.n, and i’m open to ideas as well. (for scenes or anything etc!)
which one, do you like the most?
1
2
hi tumblr..
my name is eros !
i'm new to tumblr cough cough ( i don't have a reading account, i swear) , should i make a arkham knight jason todd/under the redhood au fic..
thank you ! <3
arkham knight x reader au
under the redhood x reader au
