the three times you have a nightmare + the one time jason does
pairing: jason todd / red hood x reader
warnings: lots of angst, panic attack, references to ptsd in the form of nightmares, language, suggestive content (jason’s an unapologetic flirt)
a/n: buckle up because it’s a wild ride. i promise it’s worth it. keep thinking about this song i used to love where one of the lines is “the wound is where the light shines through.” there’s beauty even amidst brokenness. beauty in pain and in healing. i hope that’s an encouragement if you’re going through a rough time <33 sending lots of love your way !!
you were no stranger to the wayne family kitchen at this hour. it was hardly the first time you’d sought out the comfort of food after an especially bad nightmare. it was the first time, however, that someone else had beaten you to it.
nights at wayne manor, contrary to most normal households, were when the people in it were busiest. everyone was on patrol, free to do their nightly vigilante shit while they left you with the run of the place. it was easier that way. no one heard the screaming and the crying. you didn’t have to worry about hiding your red and bloodshot eyes, the hand tremors, any of it.
there was no one there to nag at you or to worry over you and the fact that you hadn’t been getting nearly enough sleep. or even to know that you’d been having nightmares. until now. because there, perched on a stool at the counter, was jason todd, hair disheveled, in sweats, and shirtless. obviously uncomfortable in a chair too tall for his already large frame, he sat with his back hunched and a spoon in his hand, shoveling scoop after scoop of ice cream into his mouth. “rough night?” you ask, a teasing lilt to your voice. it comes out quieter than you wanted, weak and wavering, making it all too obvious that it’s a facade.
he must’ve sensed you hovering in the doorway because he doesn’t even bat an eye at your presence. god, even when his guard’s down his guard’s up. guess you had joker to blame for that. the thought makes your blood boil.
it surprises you, seeing him here when you know he has a place of his own. the few times he’d been back to the manor after his resurrection, he’d seemed antsy, like the instant he’d set foot in the overly grand entrance he couldn’t wait to leave again. not that you could blame him. a lot had changed.
he did visit. granted, it was usually only to access the batcave or to sample alfred’s cooking. and definitely not to visit his idiot brothers and sisters.
but for him to come here without the promise of any of that means it must have been a really rough night.
“something like that,” he hedges. you suppose you should be flattered he even gave a response at all considering that the two of you aren’t close, and jason is not by any means fond of or especially good at making small talk.
he’s only doing it now because he feels bad for you. you push away the thought.
“you too, it looks like.” you shrink away from his gaze, sure that the sight of you is anything but pretty. there are bags under your eyes, and you’re almost certain they’re still red from crying. you’re scared that if he looks at you long enough, he’ll see right through you to how broken you are.
seemingly sensing your discomfort, he doesn’t prod any further for the moment, instead telling you, “grab a spoon, we can share.” you stare at him blankly, contemplating if he actually said what you just heard. jason todd did not just offer to share ice cream (!! out of the carton !!) with you. okay, so it wasn’t his to begin with, but still. “pretty bird?”— since when did he call you that—“you better hurry if you want some before i eat it all.” as if to prove his point, he swirls his tongue around the tip of his spoon, licking it clean. you catch yourself wondering briefly what it would be like to kiss him just then, if only to taste the sweetness of the strawberry on his lips and the warmth of your mouth in direct contrast with the coolness of his.
pushing away the thought, you move from your spot at the door to grab a spoon while at the same time seating yourself beside jason at the counter. he holds out the carton to you, and you take a spoonful, your hand settling over his gingerly to hold it still while you take what you want.
“so… nightmare, huh?” you gawk at him for a minute, wide-eyed. you sense that him asking is a courtesy because the tone lacing it is not tentative or unsure. it’s certain. he knows.
and now you can’t help but think, of course he knows. suddenly you feel stupid, embarrassed even, for feeling self-conscious around him when he too has been through so much. “i’m guessing no one else knows.” another observation he’s gotten annoyingly right. “maybe you should talk to dick,” he suggests.
you stab your spoon frustratedly into the ice cream, not wanting to have this conversation right now. or ever really. “yeah sure, i’ll go talk to golden boy,” you scoff. “i don’t want his sympathy. not when he doesn’t understand.”
“okay, what about me?” he tries. “you can talk about it to me.”
“wanna talk about patrol?” you shoot back.
“okay,” jason sighs, “point taken. but at least promise me you’ll talk to someone. if not me, then steph or tim or, god, even the brat. don’t make yourself go through this alone when you don’t have to.” jay’s gaze settles directly on you, and you realize you could get lost in those eyes. they’re so beautifully blue, soft and bright as he focuses all of his attention on you. what surprises you most is how they showcase his concern, his blatant caring so openly. he’s worried about you. jason todd doesn’t worry about anyone.
at least, you didn’t think he did.
“promise,” you breathe, if only to make him worry a little less.
days pass the same as they had. your nightmares wake you up in the middle of the night almost, if not every, night, and still you refuse to talk to anyone about it. you knew how this went. the instant you told steph she’d tell tim who in turn would tell dick who’d tell everyone else. go to literally anyone else and the same thing would happen; the only difference would be the order in which everyone found out.
you wouldn’t be able to deal with the constant how are you feeling’s and are you okay’s. the whole family would check in on you constantly, and you’d never be alone. you supposed it wasn’t their fault they had a somewhat dysfunctional tendency, but despite their good intentions, you’d end up with less sleep than you had before. tim would offer to stay up with you on nights you couldn’t sleep because what did it matter? he’d drank too much coffee to be able to sleep anyway. dick would take one look at your tear-stained cheeks and lavish upon you hugs so tight you could barely breathe. they’d treat you differently, as if now you had a glaring sign over your head that said, FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE.
so you didn’t tell anyone. you couldn’t.
you told yourself that it wasn’t like jason would know, but you figured that given the gift he had for reading people, that wasn’t actually true. in one night, he’d managed to make you feel more seen than you had your entire life— impressive, considering you lived with fucking “master detectives.”
he’d read you like you were his favorite book, a book he’d read so many times that it had become so familiar he could quote it from cover to cover. maybe it was because you reminded him of himself, but one look at you and he’d know.
anyway, because the nightmares were now interfering with your waking life and you’d rather not have the whole family find out, you decided that jason was your only option. he could be discreet, unlike some people, and he was practiced at keeping secrets. the thing was, you hadn’t seen him since that night in the kitchen and you realized you had no means of contacting him.
“hey, dick?” you ask. his only response is a low hum as he remains focused on the screen of the batcomputer. you take it as a sign to continue. “do you have jay’s number?”
“yeah, why? do you want it?” thankfully he doesn’t sound genuinely interested, so you ignore the former question.
“would you mind?” he shakes his head no and rattles off the digits to you before turning again to the case in front of him. “just fyi, the fucker never replies to anyone’s texts. not even alfred, and god help anyone who ignores alfred.”
a soft laugh escapes you at that, knowing he’s right. in one way or another, it’ll come back to bite him in the ass. probably when alfred announces a little too gleefully that there’s no anesthetic while stitching him up. “got it,” you say pocketing his number. “thanks.”
so this time when you’re woken up by a bad dream in the middle of the night, you follow up on your promise and call jason.
you’ve reached jason todd. you can leave a message at the beep. or not. i don’t really care.
“hey jason, um, i got your number from dick, i hope that’s okay. shit, i know it’s late, but i’m having another rough night so if you could swing by the manor maybe i’d take you up on your offer to talk. or i could even just use the company. that’s all. bye.” you hang up.
“so you decided to call me after all,” the sound of jason’s voice almost scares you shitless. it’s barely been twenty minutes; he must’ve been fairly close to home.
“what the fuck, jay?” he’s clambering into your room through the window, still in full red hood gear but without the hood and domino mask. he looks roguishly handsome with the hint of the moonlight highlighting his features— the pout of his lips, parted and panting somewhat lightly, the sharpness of his jaw. you try not to think about it, about how good he looks, instead reminding yourself that he’s here to help you and you shouldn’t be taking advantage of that. “you know there’s a door, right?”
he shrugs, “maybe i didn’t want the whole house to know that i’m here.”
“how’d you even get up here anyway? i’m on the third floor.”
“pretty bird, you underestimate me.” he pretends to be wounded. “but i know you didn’t call me just to talk about how i got here. what do you need, princess?”
for him to stop calling you pretty bird and princess. for him to stop looking like that and at you like that and saying and doing all the right things. maybe then you’d be able to stop thinking about how much you’d like to jump his bones. but you didn’t say that.
“i’m not ready to talk about it, but i think i could really use a distraction.”
“so i’m a distraction now?” jason smirks.
“why do you have to be so difficult?” you ask exasperatedly.
“why do you have to be so goddamn pretty?” he fires back, imitating your tone of voice exactly. you know he’s only mocking you, but something about the way he says it sounds way sexier than it should. “alright, princess, i’ll bite. what kind of distraction?”
maybe it’s because of the low rumble of his voice, soft and somewhat raspy, or the suggestiveness behind it, but you swear you’ve never felt as hot and bothered as you do at this exact moment. jason todd must make dirty talk look like an art form.
“not whatever you’re thinking, romeo. get your head out of the gutter,” you say simply, even though you’d like more than anything for it to stay there.
“well it worked, didn’t it?”
“got you to stop thinking about the dream, didn’t i?” he comments smugly, knowing full well the answer. “wonder what you’re thinking about now?” he wiggles his hips.
“oh fuck off,” you roll your eyes.
“hey. hey,” you’re shaken awake, vaguely aware of jason’s presence over you. “you were screaming.”
his voice feels so far away, but by contrast, the dream feels so real, its images replaying in your mind on a constant and unstoppable rewind.
“pretty bird?” your heart feels like it’s racing so fast you can’t even bring yourself to breathe. “pretty bird, you’re having a panic attack.”
you try to talk, but no words come out. “it’s okay, focus on breathing.” you’ve never heard him so soft spoken before. he’s perfectly calm and speaking slowly, which is exactly what you need. “i’ve got you,” he murmurs, soft and low into your ear.
you do as he says, trying your best to slow your breathing but getting frustrated when nothing seems to be help. “here,” jason envelops your small hand in his own larger one, tugging it over his chest. you feel it then, his chest rising and falling steadily with each breath, and hear it too, his breathing in your ear, deeply in and then followed by a sharp exhale. “try in through your nose, out through your mouth. slowly and deeply. close your eyes if it helps.” he’s quiet while you breathe with him, trying to mimick his breathing pattern. it’s not an uncomfortable silence, it’s a necessary one. you don’t have the energy to talk or even to focus on what he’s saying. he knows that.
he’ll break it occasionally to whisper words of reassurance like “i’m here”, “you’re safe in your room”, and “it wasn’t real.”
you don’t know how long you’re like that. hell, you’re barely even conscious of the fact that you’re shivering uncontrollably in jay’s arms.
jason’s arms leave your waist, and the warmth of him is soon gone from the bed. a whine of protest leaves your lips.
after two or three minutes pass, he reappears in the doorway with a heated blanket in his hands. “this’ll help you feel a little better,” he says as he hovers over you. he looks alarmingly like he’s going to leave, which is enough to get you to mumble, “stay, please.”
and stay he does. while seemingly hesitant at first, he slips under the covers beside you and you’re immediately surrounded by the warmth of him. you don’t think you’ve ever known a nicer feeling.
“talk to me?” you murmur somewhat sleepily. “wanna hear your voice.”
“‘course, pretty bird,” he offers you a small smile. “i’ll tell you all about how i kicked ass last night and saved batman’s butt.”
for the most part, the words get drowned out. you don’t hear the story. not really. you focus instead on his voice, on the highs and lows of his cadence as he speaks softly into the dark quiet of your room.
his voice is the most transparent thing about him. at least you think so. whether he knows it or not, that’s when you’re able to get your only glimpse into what he’s feeling. to bask in his happiness, to feel his pain, to share his anger— every emotion bleeding through. and right now, right now the highs and lows, the ups and downs radiate calm. in his arms, you feel the most secure you’ve ever felt.
your eyes are beginning to close, and you’re comforted by his soft murmurs even as they fade into the background. you think you can make out the word ‘replacement’ so you don’t have to guess who he’s referring to, but otherwise it’s a gentle hum around you, not unlike the muted quiet of snowfall. like being underwater. his voice is close but somehow far away at the same time. like a low rumble of thunder, so low you can barely hear it, but it’s there all the same.
a reminder that you’re not alone.
and whispered in the quiet stillness of the night, long after jason’s finished his story and only a minute or two before you surrender finally to a dreamless sleep:
“it’s okay, pretty bird. the big bad red hood’s here to chase away all your bad dreams.”
it’s a sweet sentiment that leaves a smile on your face even as you slip farther and farther away. a chaste kiss to your forehead and then darkness.
when he comes to your room the next time, you’re already awake. but you hadn’t called him.
something’s different this time. this time you sense that it’s him who needs you and not the other way around.
he hovers in the doorway, unsure. “can i come in?” he asks tentatively. as if you’d say no.
“you really don’t even need to ask. what’s up, jaybird?”
“just wanted to check on you.” you raise an eyebrow, and he sighs. “fine. so i needed the company.”
your gaze drifts to his eyes. they look duller than usual, defeated, like they’ve lost their usual sparkle. “i’m flattered,” you tease, trying your best to disguise the underlying worry in your voice.
“don’t get too used to it,” jason shoots right back.
“c’mere,” you motion for him to join you in the bed. he edges toward it uncertainly, like he’s hesitant to take you up on your offer. ultimately, his apparent need for your company wins out because he slides in next to you. “closer,” you demand, leaving no room for argument.
his head rests on your stomach as he settles himself in between your legs. you’re not entirely sure how to go about helping him; this a rare show of vulnerability for jason.
you figure he’ll talk about it if and when he wants to so, in the meantime, you make casual conversation. how to be a good distraction. it’s as if you took a page right out of his book.
“are you a blanket hog?” you question.
“you know. a blanket hog,” you state. “if you’re sharing a bed with someone, do you steal all the covers?”
“and you’re asking me this, why?”
“for science,” you snark. “just answer the question, you big idiot.”
he fakes a resigned sigh. “no, i’m not.”
“hm,” you ponder this for a moment, “not even without knowing?” your fingers thread through jason’s hair. you’d wanted to do that for ages and now was your chance. he makes no move to stop you, instead leaning into your touch as your fingers scratch lightly at his scalp while occasional soft sounds of contentment leave his beautifully parted lips.
“no sweetheart, not even without knowing.” after a brief moment of consideration he adds, “‘m always too hot anyway.”
“that’s true,” you muse, tugging thoughtfully at his curls. “you’re like a living, breathing furnace.”
“you like it though,” jason teases playfully. his chuckle rumbles soft and low in his chest. he’s so close to you you can hear it. you can feel it.
“that’s cause i’m always cold.” your laugh rings out louder than you’d expected.
“well, then we’re a perfect match because i can warm you right up. i can think of a few ways actually.” you freeze (oh the irony), falling completely silent for a moment as you take in the underlying meaning. curse jason todd and his natural affinity for making your breath catch and your heart flutter.
you catch yourself wondering if it’s a defense mechanism. lighten the air with a few lines, don’t let anyone see that you’re hurting.
maybe you’re reading into it much. he’s always been a charmer.
you sit quietly in thought before asking yet another in your line of questions. “do you snore?”
“i wouldn’t know,” jason shrugs.
“bullshit, jay. if you do, someone had to have told you by now.”
“i wouldn’t know,” he repeats, “i haven’t shared a bed with anyone since, well, you know… you’re the first.”
again, you find yourself at a loss for words. no fucking way. there was no way. although, you supposed it made sense.
assuming jason had never talked about his nightmares before, it was understandable that he hadn’t wanted to be that vulnerable. when the person sleeping beside you wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, suffice to say it opens up a lot of conversations about past trauma. and in jason’s case, it was more complicated than most. you’re certain that it’s painful to talk about. especially when talking about it brings those memories to the surface, forced to relive them all over again.
it was a big enough deal that he’d come to you. he didn’t do that; he didn’t ask for help or ask for company. not from friends and not from family. he had a tendency to shut people out, but he’d done the opposite with you. he was letting you in. you wondered what you’d done to deserve his trust. you hoped to god you wouldn’t break it.
“so,” you realize you’ve been quiet for some time, “you tell me.” his voice is soft again, tinged with the hint of an only partially real smile.
“oh, don’t worry,” you warn, keeping a lighthearted note to your voice, “if you snore, you will never hear the end of it.” jason smiles, and it’s fully real this time. a genuine grin from ear to ear and an accompanying twinkle in the bright blue of his eyes as if to say, “i’m counting on it.” “okay,” you pause seriously, “this is an important one. there is most definitely a wrong answer, and if you give it i’m going to have no other option than to kick you out of my bed.” you’re joking. mostly. but jason catches on, scrunching his nose in the cutest way imaginable as if he’s readying himself for what’s to come. “left or right side, 3… 2… 1… go!”
you can tell by the bemused expression on his face that it hadn’t been a question he’d expected. “left,” jason murmurs amusedly, casting a sidelong glance at you.
“right,” you comment at the same time, pleasantly surprised. “hm,” you pretend to think, “i guess you can stay then.”
“as if you’d kick me out,” jason snorts. “what is this? some sort of compatibility test?”
“maybe. next question. do you like to cuddle?” a giggle escapes your lips. your hand comes up to rest over your mouth, and you regret having ever made such an ungodly sound.
jason shoots you an are you for real? glance. you shrug, mouthing for him to answer the question. he answers in a deeper manner than you’d anticipated, “depends. i don’t not like it,” you sense a but coming, “but i’m not an arms open, lay my heart out in your hands type guy. only if it’s the right person. so i guess you could say i’m a work in progress.”
you look down to where jason’s resting his head on your stomach, where your hands are running through his hair and where his legs are tangled with yours. does that mean i’m the right person? you want to scream it out. is this his way of telling you?
“what about you?” he seems genuinely interested. and if anything, you’ve learned that jason is an attentive listener. always. no matter what you have to say, however important or unimportant.
but now, with his full attention on you, you blush from the heat of his gaze. “yeah,” you mumble quietly, cheeks flushed. then, realizing he’s waiting for you to say something more, you add, “i guess i’d say physical touch is one of my love languages. for a lot of people probably.”
suddenly you’re a thousand times more aware of your hands— stroking jason’s forehead, winding one of his curls around your finger, scratching lightly at the base of his neck.
“emotional intimacy is important too, but i think people underestimate how much can be communicated through touch. erm,” you clear your throat, “sorry. that was probably more than you wanted to know.”
“no,” he reassures you. it comes off as somewhat flippant but only because he doesn’t understand the need you feel to apologize. “i wanted to hear it all.”
“last one,” you promise. “big spoon or little spoon?” another you’ve got to be kidding me look from jason.
he answers all the same. “little bit of both. big if that’s what my partner needs. little on select occasions. but don’t go running around screaming that red hood is a little spoon and killing my rep,” he warns.
“don’t worry, my lips are sealed,” you pretend to zip your lips and throw away the key. “but only if you let me be your big spoon,” you tease.
on top of you, jay groans. “i already regret telling you.” but the smile on his face tells you otherwise.
“so,” he muses, capturing your hand in his, “what’s my touch telling you right now?”
you try to muffle a gasp at the drag of his calloused palms across your own. the way his bigger hand, knuckles laced with scars, swallows your own smaller one. his touch is feather light at first, hesitant, hand shaking slightly from what you assumed was the wear and tear of continued patrol after a string of sleepless nights. then it became more insistent, tighter, like you were a lifeboat at sea in the same waters he was drowning in. but in your scenario, jason was the lifeboat. you were the one that was drowning, holding onto him for dear life.
“same as what mine’s telling you,” you murmur.
“that you need me, and i need you.” you smile softly. “that we need each other.”
jason smiles back, a soft smile already gracing his handsome features. “then i guess it’s a good thing we’ve already found each other.”
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