will never found au where mike finally finds him and they lock eyes and mike just says "will" in his will voice with tears in his eyes and he's about to hug him but then will sort of backs away and just makes this pained expression for a few seconds and then clears his throat and turns away and-
yandere jason todd x reader has me on a chokehold (mind the tags).
like, imagine you grew up in crime alley with him. he’s the person you trust the most in the world, the one person who knows what living in that place, where dead bodies appear in the morning, and lunch came from the trash can, is like. he is the one person who knows how rooted in the fear of adults—big, aggressive, unpredictable— was when you were little and how much it took to break that prejudice down.
when bruce wanted to adopt him, he grabbed you by the arm and declared that you two were a package deal; “it’s both of us or neither”, he said. to think he was willing to resign the opportunity of a lifetime just to stay with you stuck in your memory long after long after you learned to spar each other, how to dress stab wounds and bullet holes and you decided that you wanted every day to be like this: fighting by Jason’s side, together until you were old and wrinkly, living somewhere warm with the people who loved you.
then ethiopia came. and then it went. but it didn’t feel like that at all.
it was as though a part of your heart had been ripped apart from the rest, buried far away from your reach, and everyone told you to just get over it, to suck it up and keep going; it was infuriating as much as it was unbearable.
after jason died, you didn’t leave vigilantism, not outright, but you didn’t have half as much the will to fight. it wasn’t the same without him. the magic that robin exuded, which had once enthused you, was entirely absent without him there.
so, you told bruce that you were dropping out of a mission. just a single one, an easy one he could take over perfectly well on his own. and then, you dropped out of two missions. and then, three. and then, you felt so numb and the world was such a bother that you stopped counting, until you weren't a vigilante anymore.
tim appeared out of the blue. at first, it felt like betrayal. bruce wanted another robin? seriously? it felt like he was saying that jason wasn’t good enough, so someone better had to replace him. also, the kid managed to crack both his and dick's secret identities, so while he kind of had to stay, being a liability and all… did he? his presence was a constant reminder of the fact that jason was gone. how could bruce just move past that? where had all the grief and anger gone?
but as days passed and turned into weeks, you began to interact with tim and discovered that he actually had pretty interesting things to say. he was witty, creative, passionate about investigating, and he never judged you for missing jason like crazy. he didn't want to be him, he just wants to earn his spot in the family. and when you let him in at last, it felt like letting go, like acceptance and grief all wrapped up in one.
years go by and very, very slowly, reality starts to settle back down. there is always a dull ache in your chest that pierces your heart whenever the image of jason's smiling face comes back to your mind's forefront, but it's a happy thing now to remember him, not a reason to fall apart. it's hard, but you're getting to the point of acceptance.
then quietly, almost like he was sneaking around, red hood arrives to your life. you hear that he is wreaking havoc in the streets by killing criminals and messing with crime syndicates. since that is not your department anymore, you leave it all to bruce and tim, who are working hard to take him down. still, you notice that bruce is avoiding you, far more than usual. also, tim is unusually undescriptive about the cases as of late, when he used to share everything with you for insight.
they were fools, thinking they could hide it from you. after all, bruce trained you, too: you know how to be a detective, regardless of how long you've been off work. and so, you find out that your dead best friend and only love is back from the dead.
you don't think twice and put your suit back on the moment that knowledge comes to you. that is your best friend they are trying to catch— it'd only be fair if you were the one to do it. bruce firmly "suggests" that you don't, but you don't listen to him and simply go off on a solo investigation. you pursue the smallest trails and hints of his presence around the city, collected without their help, but some you do steal from bruce and tim. all those clues, which you study obsessively, finally lead you to him: the person you love, the person you've been grieving for years.
on his end, he was hoping you'd never see him again. how would you react if you did? he's sure you wouldn't recognize him, and he'd rather avoid you looking at him like he's someone you don't know, burying himself in his self-imposed duty as opposed to confronting the fact that there is someone out there who misses him.
jason misses you, too; how couldn't he? you're the best person he knows. you always understood him and his anger, and you weren't afraid to tell him when he was being an utter jerk either. your smile was his light at the end of the tunnel during the harsh, cold days of his childhood. you always knew when he was upset and you'd comfort him always, taking his small hands into your smaller ones as your voice soothed his nerves.
it was easier to forget about you if he didn't look for you. still, he did so unconsciously, whenever the bat and the replacement chased after him. he'd wonder if you were alright, if you were even alive. you couldn't have died, too. no way. you couldn't have ended up like him. but he quickly found out that bruce wayne's daughter was alive and well, but that, after his death, the media had stalked her for months.
this is how he found out that you had grieved him intensly. he knew that already, he imagined that you did, after all you two went through, but the pictures of you with hollow eyes, pale skin, and lips that couldn't manage to form into a smile confirmed it.
he wondered what else you'd gone through that nobody else knew; he immediately scolded himself for those thoughts.
he should leave you alone, now that he is a killer. you wouldn't want to associate with him, even though choosing not to look for you makes him sick.
everything he's ever done, it's been to protect you. even when he was robin, his first concern was your safety above his own, throwing himself into danger to take a hit, only for you to scold him after as you wrapped up his bleeding wounds. he'd felt proud of it every time, butterflies fluttering in his stomach as he feigned an easy-going demeanor, betrayed by his reddened cheeks.
things couldn't be the way they were before. but he wanted them to be. god, how he wished he could hold you and know that you are okay.
so imagine his shock when he saw you back on the streets. that suit, that face, he'd recognize them anywhere.
it almost infuriates him.
how could you put yourself in danger like this?! after he died! don't you know that being a hero is what got him killed? surely you do... and if you don't, that doesn't matter! you shouldn't be out there, taking on metahumans and people who should be receiving mental help instead of terrorizing the city!
he does notice, though, that you're acting separately from bruce and robin. huh. what are you planning? he tries to look into you, but you're too elusive, erasing your movements as soon as you make them. the more he tries to know, the more you elude him, and it frustrates him. if only he could meet you as red hood and give you a big scare so you'd consider backing off... maybe even hurt you so badly you'll end up in the hospital? he doesn't want that—the worst thing that could have happened to him before was seeing you cry— but if it's for your safety, then...
the reunion is unexpected. he should have seen it coming, but he didn't. he just didn't.
he's entering his safe house, exhausted from being up for more hours than he should have, planning and strategizing on how to swallow a drug cartel in the city into his own organization, when he sees you there, standing in the middle of the room, with your domino mask off as you wring it nervously in your hands.
"jason," you say breathlessly. you know he is red hood? shit. shit, this isn't how he wanted it to go.
(he didn't want it to in the first place, but if it was inevitable, then he would have wanted it to be different.)
he's tempted to throw you out. it's what he should do. why should he let you be associated with him? you'll just try to convince him to stop. you're too good, too moral, too kind— much too kind for our own good.
can't you see he doesn't deserve your kindness? you're better off in a world where you won't have to worry about the likes of him. he knows you're in college now, too. so go. leave him be. forget about him. why won't you forget about him?
he's selfish, too. so selfish, in fact, that he doesn't stop you from hugging him, or taking him to his couch, or making him tell you what happened to him, how he came back to life, and what the League of Assassins did to him.
to say you're horrified is an understatement.
"i'm so sorry," you whisper tearfully.
"what're you sorry for?" he asks, voice uncharacteristically soft for the person he's become. "none of that's your fault, you know that."
except, for some reason, you insist that you should have been there, that you should have been by his side before what happened, happened. you're set on that belief, and he absolutely hates it.
"listen," he tells you, taking you by the shoulders. "i'd rather you hadn't been there in the first place. you could have died with me, too, and..."
he trails off, the thought turning into a force pressing down on his chest.
what would have happened if you died, too?
the thought haunts him for days afterward. had you died, too, would you have had the same luck as him? would you have been brought back? if the joker had gotten his hands on you, too, would your last moments have been as painful, terrifying, and hopeless as his were?
you don't know what has him so grim, clueless about his growing dread. there shouldn't be anything to dread: you've reunited against all odds! you're together again, you can be by each other's side after all! so why is he so... depressed? contemplative?
little do you know jason's mind is spiraling. you want to be by his side, whether as a civilian or a vigilante, and whenever he sees you in spandex, bathed by the darkness of the night, ready to send people to jail while thoughtlessly risking your life... he can't take it. what would he do if you died like he did, or worse? why don't you seem to care? you look so happy, happier than he's seen you look in the tabloids of recent years. he knows that you're enjoying going back to the "good old times" with him, but he's being driven insane.
one day, he decides he's had enough: he takes and locks you in his safehouse, which he's adapted beforehand so the only one who can unlock the front door is him, effectively trapping you inside.
at first, you think someone else kidnapped you and he's here to save you, when you realize that this is his apartment. the truth dawns down on you like a hammer to the head.
"no..."
"i'm sorry," he genuienly says. "it's for the better, okay?"
the first days, you try to reason with him: what could happen to you out there? you know how to defend yourself, you've literally been trained by aliens and enhanced individuals, going on par with the likes of solomon grundy and clayface. he has nothing to fear, you'll be fine. also, what does he think bruce and tim will do? just stand around and do nothing? what about your friends? they'll start looking for you, too. and, look, you get why he did it: he's scared. of you course he's scared. nobody can blame him for it. so, you tell him, if he lets you go, everything will be okay. you can move past this and he can seek help.
but jason strikes back: he thought he could handle joker, and he couldn't. bruce and tim? let them have fun trying to find you. and your friends have no idea you're even affiliated with batman, so they won't have a clue as to why you've disappeared. besides, you don't need anything from the outside world: he can get you anything you want. and he does! your room, which he's decorated based on your previous one—he already calls it your old home—, is constantly being updated with new, top-tier, exclusive versions of your favorite things. whatever you want, it's yours. he's also giving you all the space you need to process this! albeit with a few requests here and there that you share your time with him. also, a hug wouldn't hurt... he really does want a hug. he's getting upset, seeing you so desperate to leave.
by the second week, you understand that reason won't work. so you start to ignore him: you take the meals he makes without so much as a glance his way, spend your time doing whatever you can to fill it, now that you have so much of it, pretending he isn't always watching you like a hawk, and avoid running into him whenever you can help it.
it drives jason crazy: he'd rather have you yelling and punching him because that'd show him that you still care. instead, you're more like a zombie now: going through the motions without changing your expression much.
"say something," he blurts out one afternoon all of a sudden. you simply continue to do what you're doing, and his patience snaps. he stomps towards you and grabs you by the wrist, hoisting you up so you can't ignore him. "hey! i'm talking to you!"
you flinch, because he's taller and bigger than you now. has he realized that he could hurt you, even unintentionally, and you'd have to put twice as much strain on your body to push back against him? he probably hasn't, if his own flinch is anything to go by.
"wait, shit. i didn't mean to-"
he lets go of you like your skin burns him.
"m' sorry. i just... i... i know you want to go, but i'm just trying to protect you. you can't be out there while gotham's infested with all those people. you know that, right?"
he hopes that you do. you don't think that it's reasonable to be out there, when anything could happen to you and he'd be none the wiser, do you?
but the way you look at him—tired and hurt in ways he's never seen before in the depth of your gaze— is a knife to the heart.
"whatever you say, jason," you reply, resigned, already, to the fact that his perspective is unshakeable.
he stiffens are your apathy.
has the fight really drained out of you?
"that's it?" he cannot help but utter, which creates a tingle of humor in your throat.
"yeah. that's it," you answer listlessly.
surely, it can't be it. you've got to have more to say about this.
but jason sees that you're also not up for a discussion right now. and he wouldn't mind taking care of you. so, he gently picks you up, carries you over to the couch, and holds you to himself; you don't fight him (you know now that when he gets like this, the best thing to do is let it run its course).
"i know this isn't ideal for you," he murmurs, "but i promise to keep you safe. always. even if you don't want me to."
jason places a kiss to your hair.
"you're the only thing that matters to me."
he'd made that same promise to you years ago, when he was just starting to get the ropes of beating up men twice his size in red, yellow, and green.
you can barely consider him the same person anymore.
Hiyah! I'd love to see comments on what you'd like to read on a part two or an imagine for this scenario because I love it and I kinda want to develop it, but I think you guys'll have very interesting ideas :)
Thanks for reading!
Jane stop, your eyes are too bambi, your heart too pure and innocent, your feelings too deep, your ending too doomed, they never called you by your name, you never heard "i love you" back, you kill yourself, they kill you Jane.
Will stop, your eyes are too bunny, your love is way too pure, your presence ignored, your character was put aside, your narrative too doomed, they never gave you the love you deserved, they always used you, they kill you Will.
Mike stop, your eyes are too puppy, your character too complex, your ending too unfair, they misunderstood you, they took away your feelings, they made you hollow, they kill you Mike.
giyuu hasn't woken up yet, and it's been some time since the final battle against muzan. of course, very few people have woken up (at least those who were closest to the action); you yourself are an exception. even though you suffered your fair share of injuries, you are up and running again.
it feels like you've been doing that for years, so how can you stop now?
aoi, sumi, kiyo, and naho all say that you need to stay in bed, letting your body heal and what-not, but you still sneak out of your room to sit next to giyuu, holding his remaining hand on your lap as you caress his palm. sometimes you rub a circle on the part where it dips the most, and sometimes you just hold it, content to have it in your grasp.
it's to know that he's there, that his warmth means that he is still here.
"when you wake up," you say softly, "i promise i'll make you all the simmered salmon with daikon you want. just say the word and i'll make them, okay?"
you want to see him smile like he would in those rare moments where food wrung an expression of self-indugent joy out of him. you wanted him to be carefree, as he was when he ate, forjust a moment, now that everything is over.
everything is over...
your eyes fill with tears.
you miss them— you miss everyone lost to the war. most of your closest allies and friends are dead now: mitsuri, shinobu, obanai, gyomei, muichiro... at least sanemi is still here, but he hasn't woken up either, and tengen, who visits everyone daily with hinatsuru, makio, and suma. they've been a great support net, but...
"i'm so mad at him..." you admit to your unconscious partner. "i want to bring back muzan so i can kill himself. how could he take so many lives? how could he...? they're all gone, giyuu. all of them. and i know they've found peace in his death, wherever they are, but it won't bring them back, and i... i just..."
you lower your head, crying softly as your grasp on his hand tightens. giyuu breathes calmly, unaware of your sorrow but comforting you with his presence, faint as it may be.
"i keep thinking that i'll see them again: in headquarters, by their houses, just around here, and... and then i remember that they're gone. i can't believe they're gone, that the hashira... well, now there aren't really any hashira..."
it's a tough pill to swallow: your job, your purpose in life, is gone now that it has no need to exist anymore. from one day to the other, things have ended.
"what do i do now?" you ask to yourself, wiping away your tears. "giyuu... what do we do now?"
when he wakes up, you're the first person to know— literally, since you were sitting by his side, as per usual, and out of nowhere, his blue eyes snapped open, making you jump out of your chair (which earned you a lot of pain from you healing wounds).
and when aoi finally deems him stable enough to let you be in his room, you catch him on the current state of things. he stays quiet for a long time, taking it all in—his missing limb, the disbandment of the corps, how much time has passed since he was last awake— before nodding slowly.
"it's a lot to take in," you say, intertwining your fingers with his.
"yeah..." he murmurs tiredly. "but most of all... i'm just glad you're here."
"i'm glad you're here, too," you answer with a small smile. "you scared me there for a second."
"you, too," he says, sending you an accusatory look.
you know exactly what he is talking about the moment those words leave his mouth, and you nod understandingly.
"i'm alright now. i can walk around and i-"
"i thought you'd died."
that shuts you up real quick.
"i thought that you'd left me," giyuu continues, his gaze steely despite his battered body. "when i saw that you weren't getting up and that he was drawing near you..."
"that didn't happen," you interrupt him. "i'm alive. we're both alive."
"what if you weren't?"
"but i am. we both are."
both of you say nothing for a moment, the weight of your words settling in.
"we're alive," you say again. "so... what do we do now?"
giyuu thinks about it momentarily.
"i have no idea."
you chuckle weakly.
"me neither. honestly, i never imagined that all demons would die in our generation. i thought that'd be the future ones' doing."
"we can't change that," giyuu says. "so we need to keep moving forward."
"yes... but i honestly have no idea how to live a normal adult life," you tell him in a deadpan tone, perfectly aware that he doesn't either.
giyuu mulls on this, glancing away.
"...we could live in a farm."
you raise an eyebrow.
"a farm."
"yes. we could have cattle and grow our own food. we wouldn't need anybody or anything else."
"is that what you want?" you ask, holding his hand between yours. "'cause if that's it, then... i want to go with you to that farm. maybe i can learn how to play the guitar or something so, if we make a bonfire, i can play us some music."
"mmh," he utters as an answer, turning so he can face you better.
"careful," you remind him, but he moves anyway. "you're still recovering."
"so are you. what are you doing out of bed?"
"you sound like aoi right now and i'm disliking it very much."
"kanna, get over here."
you playfully sigh before obeying, slipping into bed right next to him. giyuu hugs you and rests his chin on your head, a placid expression settling on his face.
"stay here," he requests; you hear a hint of desperation mixed in there, and it breaks your heart just a bit.
Synopsis: Will's mind snapped after Vecna tried to hijack it. Because he pushed it too far, trying to remain himself, Will's sanity slipped, and he is confined at Hawkins Lab while they try to determine his connection to Vecna.
That link between him and Will is still present, so they try to help his mind, but nothing works— except for Mike Wheeler.
TW: mental torture, severe self-care and self-esteem issues from Mike's part, and a whole lot of angst. You can read the fic on AO3, too, or check the tags here: https://archiveofourown.gay/works/79815231
Fic starts under the cut!
1987
Will was laughing in his chair when Mike went into the room. He looked horrible: unbrushed, floppy hair spread over his face; chapped lips, cracked from biting them over and over; and a body far too thin for a sixteen-year-old.
Alas, no sixteen-year-old should have been restrained in a straitjacket either.
But Mike was there to make things better— that was his role.
"Mike!" Will exclaimed when he saw him come, his wild eyes fixing on him. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
"He didn't," Mike promised, reaching Will and placing his hands on his shoulders. "I'm okay. And you?"
In response, Will simply giggled as tears grew in his eyes.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. Here, let me get you off this."
Mike quickly undid the bindings, and, as soon as he could, Will threw himself at him, wrapping his arms around Mike.
"Get him out of my head," Will whispered. "Please, just get him out of my-"
"Shh," Mike said, stroking Will's back to calm him down. "Will, it's okay. You're okay. Take a deep breath."
Will forced himself to suck air through his teeth and let it out slowly, as Mike had taught him. Over the last couple of months, apart from mandatory therapy that the Lab gave him, his secondary—and most successful— therapeutic activity was seeing Mike. The war against Vecna was still raging on outside, but in that room, with white walls, a comfy bed, and stuff Mike had brought to make it feel more like home, they had a sanctuary.
"Let's sit down, okay?" Mike proposed. Will nodded, settling himself on the floor; Mike followed him, fairly used to having things go this way during his visits. "Do you want me to-?"
"Yes," Will blurted out. Mike scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Will, practically tucking him against his side. "Thanks..."
"Of course," Mike said, nudging Will with his chin. "You didn't have to ask— I was gonna do it anyway."
"Yeah?" Will weakly inquired.
"Yeah," Mike answered.
Will closed his eyes and rested his head on Mike's arm, far more muscular than it was a few months ago; it was almost like a pillow. Will's pillow. The thought made his heart flutter.
"You know, you're the best."
"Just trying to not be a shitty boyfriend," Mike pointed out.
"Success so far," Will quipped. "And I don't think you're-"
Suddenly, Will gasped, throwing his head back and pulling away from Mike. He quickly wrapped Will in his arms, careful not to let him get hit with anything as he convulsed and writhed, letting out small screams with each violent jump.
"It's okay," Mike says, loudly enough to be heard through the fog but gently enough not to be threatening. "It's okay, Will, it's okay, it's not real-"
Will let out a piercing cry, hugging his stomach as his pupils grew and hid the color in his eyes.
This was perhaps the worst part of what Vecna had done to Will: not only had he affected his cognition, but had also made sure to torture Will daily by sending him visions of the Demos' deaths, making him feel all of it. Sometimes, when Mike fought the creatures, he asked himself if it wasn't Will he was hurting when he pulled the trigger or blew them over with a flamethrower— he never knew when Vecna could take that and push it onto his boyfriend.
Will repeatedly hit his head against the floor, sobbing and shaking.
"No! NO! Mike! Mike! Mike! Mike!"
He wished he could be there with Will, right in there with him in his head, and tell him that none of it was real. If he could isolate the pain and tether himself back to reality... If he could see that he didn't have to be scared... Henry was elsewhere, while he was right there, safe and sound. If he could just... stop screaming so badly...
Mike felt familiar sorrow fill his eyes; a part of him called it selfish, given that it was Will, not him, who was in pain.
He picked Will up and cradled him on his lap, shushing Will even as he thrashed around, agony spreading through his limbs. In his eyes, he was out in a street he recognized, but could not quite place—most places in his mind were mixed into heterogeneous landscapes by now—, but he could see men and women in green in front of him, and they intended to kill him. No matter how much he protested and tried to back off, they wouldn't stop, relentlessly attacking him as they threw things in his mouth, things that burned like acid in his gut and tore him apart.
How much he hated them. How much he wanted to annihilate the puny little stick-like things standing in his way. He felt a primal need to get past them, go forward to wherever he was supposed to go, and stomp on them while he was at it.
But Will sensed that those were not his feelings but the Demogorgon's; not his emotions, the monster's. He was aware of it in the back of his mind, but it was useless as he wished he could tear them all to pieces in his mouth, like Demogorgons did.
"Do you see, William?" a sinister voice echoed in his ears. "This is what you are: a part of my army. Give up to me, William; stop this fight against your destiny."
"MIKE!" he roared, springing up with his arms shooting forward. Someone caught him, and he kicked his feet, sobbing. "No! No! Let me go, let me go"
"Will, Will! It's me!" the voice said; it felt like a lighthouse in the dark. Will immediately stopped fighting and broke down in his boyfriend's arms, clinging onto him for dear life. "It's just me..."
Mike could only hold the pieces of him together in arms that were too short to do so.
Will laid next to him on the bed, giggling at something Mike couldn't understand— or anybody, for that matter. Sometimes, Will did this after episodes, like he found morbid irony in whatever he had seen and refused to put it into words, deferring to sounds instead.
"Will," he said softly, patting the latter's cheek. "Wake up."
Will laughed, pressing his face against Mike's hand. "I'm dreaming, Michael. I'm dreaming.”
"This isn't a dream. I'm here, we're both here."
He wanted to yell. He wanted so badly to tell Will to snap out of it, to please come back to him.
"You sound so much like my Mike," Will muttered, placing a small kiss on his palm. "So much like him... I wish I could see him..."
"I'm right here," Mike whispered, brushing Will's brow with his thumb. "Can't you believe me?"
"I want to, so badly... but Mike doesn't like me... not this way. He's not like me."
Whenever Vecna took Will into one of his memories, Mike always begged that it wouldn't be the time when he had treated him the worst; he should have known better than to pray to nonexistent good Gods. Of course Vecna would put salt in the wound.
"Will," Mike tried to say, but Will interrupted him.
"If he were, do you know what I'd tell him? I'd tell him that I love him. He's..." he sighed, lost in the haze, "he's the best."
"Will, please..."
"Not now," Will insisted, pressing a finger to Mike's lips. "Let me tell you about him. Since you'll never meet him, let me tell you about him, okay? So you'll know why you're here. Why you're like this to me."
"I..." Mike bit his lip, chewing on it thoughtfully. "Fine. Tell me about him."
Will proceeded to rant about their eleven years of friendship, where a Paladin and a Cleric protagonized his tale, along with the Bard and the Ranger, the Mage, the Zoomer, their respective parents and siblings, and how, amongst them all, the Paladin stood out as the best person he'd ever met. He described a kind, warm, loving friend who always looked out for the people he loved, who had a hard time apologizing but got over himself and did so anyway, who would go to the ends of the Earth to protect him. He admitted that the Paladin had hurt him badly a few years ago, when he dated the Mage and left him aside, but that it was really a matter of confusion and fear.
"My Mike wasn't a bad person," he made sure that 'imaginary' Mike would understand.
He also told him about all the things the Paladin had done for him throughout the years: he offered him a safe place to sleep when home felt too chaotic; accepted him just the way he was, sensitivity and quirks and all; made up stories out of his drawings, which he had kept in a binder for years—a detail that made Will gush; set out on a mission to find him across literal dimensions; stuck by his side even when 'the monster' haunted his head; and, even when they were at their worst, did not fail to show concern for him when he was scared or angry.
"So if Mike was in love with me, too, he'd look like you," Will finished.
By that point, Mike was near tears.
"I can believe it..." he said to himself, wiping them away before they could spill. "Is that how you really see me? I'm so far from that, Will. I've been a shitty friend to everyone. When Dustin came back home from camp, I completely ignored him; when you wanted to play D&D, I literally mocked you; I didn't even know that Max wasn't okay until she almost died. How is that being a good friend?"
"Mike," Will said, touching his wrist, "you made mistakes; so what? You're still a good person."
"I know that mistakes don't define you and all that crap," Mike said.
"I think it's true," Will said with a little smile. "If they did, you wouldn't look like this to me. You wouldn't be so sorry in my dreams, even when I say that you shouldn't be."
Will rolled to wrap Mike up with his whole body, giggling while the other groaned at the sudden weight.
"Stop being an asshole to yourself," Will adamantly said. "You don't deserve to be feeling guilty all the time, Mike. Also, my Mike's been visiting me almost every day since I got locked in the Lab— it's more than I thought I'd get."
"You deserve better, though," Mike said, his voice muffled against Will.
Will snuggled up to Mike. "So do you."
"It's so cold," Will shivered, wrapped up in multiple blankets, as Mike rubbed his arms as fast as he could.
"It's just the Upside Down," Mike said. He had a new injury as a result of a Demodog's idea that he was a snack, so his leg was in a cast, but that did not stop him from visiting Will, who had another case of temperature dissonance. "It's cold outside, too."
"Inside," Will gritted out. "My veins. It's cold, Mike."
"That's just Vecna playing mind games with you, Will."
"Don't say that name," Will told him with a haunted look in his eye. "I don't want to hear it. Ever. Please, Mike."
"I won't say it again," Mike agreed, pulling him a little closer. "But you've gotta eat something. I heard that you've haven't in a while."
"I can't eat," Will said, hiding his face in Mike's neck. "It... I'll throw it up."
"But it might be why you're feeling so cold, Will: your body needs the nutrients."
"Can't they just put me on IV?"
"It wouldn't fix anything."
"Wouldn't it?" Will challenged. "It's... If it's just the nutrients..."
"You need to eat," Mike reiterated. "It's not about just the nutrients. You're gonna starve yourself if you keep at it."
"I can't eat, Mike. He knows when I eat. He draws his strength from me; from all the creatures he's linked to."
"Well, I don't give a damn."
Will stared.
"It's true, I'm not ashamed of it," Mike said, placing a hand on his hip. "Who the hell cares if you eating makes Vec... him stronger when you could die? So either you eat, or I'll make you eat myself."
Will scoffed. "You can't do that."
"Try me," Mike replied, narrowing his eyes. "You said that I care about everyone, and, well, you're everyone and you're my... my boyfriend."
The word still took some work to say, but it was getting easier. At first, it had felt like damnation from everyone he knew, but he was quickly proven wrong when the others showed them both support for their relationship. Some even said that they saw it coming from miles away (e.g., his sister, Dustin, Lucas, and Will's mom), much to his embarrassment
"You're my boyfriend," he said again, a little fonder this time. "And I'm... I'm seeing you be okay with dying for him."
"Not for-"
"You are," Mike cut off. "Screw the wording. You're willing to die so he'll get weakened, but it won't be by much. You said it yourself: he draws strength from all his creatures, not just you. And he's got dozens out there on the streets. So, Will, either eat or I make you: your choice."
Will reflected on Mike's words, trembling under the bedsheets.
"If I eat..." he said slowly, "can I get something in return?"
"What's that?"
"Stay the night."
One night had turned into two; two into four, four into eight; and now they sat at thirteen. For everyone at the Lab, it was easy to see that Will was better whenever Mike was around. Some theorized that it was because the two knew each other from such a young age, and while Mike acknowledged that time had a part to play, it wouldn't have been the same if they hadn't grown as close as they did. Had one been each other's bully or simply a classmate who had happened to go to the same schools throughout the years, things would have been different. But because they were so close, they knew each other better than anyone else.
Still, some things, Mike did not know about Will anymore: how many hours he slept, if he slept at all, how often they bathed him there, how much time he spent laughing at nothing in particular when he wasn't around, or if he had ever seen him through the Demos' eyes while in battle.
But the worst thing not to know was the extent of Vecna's damage on Will's mind. The bastard had begun to block Will's memories away, taking them one by one. They had first noticed when Mike asked if Will remembered passing notes to each other during third grade in Ms. Caulfield's extremely boring History classes. Will had said no, immediately setting off the alarms in Mike's brain: they'd laughed about it for years, joking that they had written more to each other than on their copybooks; there was no way Will had forgotten that with how many times they brought it up over the years.
That was the first red flag. Once more appeared, Mike began to test him.
"Do you remember my mother's name?"
"Karen," Will confidently said, fiddling with some D&D cards Mike had found in an abandoned house and brought along.
"And my Dad's?"
"Ted."
"What about your dog's name?"
"Chester! Mike, I wouldn't forget my own dog's name!" Will said, leaning against the wall.
"Just in case," Mike answered, trying to sound humorous despite the open pit of worry in his belly. "Okay, a harder one now: when did we meet Lucas and Dustin?"
"Fourth grade."
"What year?"
Will paused to think about it. He searched for the answer, picking at each memory he had of their first year together, trying to determine the time from the clothes, the music released that year, the new faces, the family dramas... and nothing came to him.
"I don't know," he muttered, looking down at the cards.
"1980," Mike told him, writing it down in Will's memory journal, which he had insisted on making for him. "On the fall of that year. You were so curious about why Dustin didn't have teeth... Lucas was so short back then."
"He... was?"
"Yeah," Mike said, scooting a little closer. "Shorter than you."
"How the tables have turned..." Will reflected. He watched Mike finish writing the memory down and nodded, ready to keep going.
"Alright. Um, what was our favorite place to go to as kids?"
"Just one?"
"Yeah. There was a very particular one."
"The... The arcade," Will half-guessed.
"Yeah, that's right!" Mike said, writing it down. "We'd stay there forever, playing one game after the other... I remember packing extra money for both of us."
"Aw, that was nice of you... I think I kinda remember it. It's like... I remember remembering, like, knowing the concept of it. Does that make sense?"
Mike nodded and smiled."Yeah, I think I get what you mean."
"Can you ask me something more?" Will requested.
"Sure! Hard or easy?"
"Easy."
"What's my favorite subject?"
"Definitely English."
"You're correct," Mike pompously said, so satisfied with Will's conviction that he did not write that down.
Eight days later, right after a particularly hard mission, Mike went back to the Lab to check on Will.
"Mike..." Will murmured from his chair, incredulous as his eyes found the sixteen-year-old soldier.
"Not as bad as it looks," his boyfriend promised. "Just a scratch."
"It is not just a scratch!" Will said as Mike untied him. "Your face is all wrapped up in bandages! How is that just a scratch?"
As soon as he was free, he took Mike's face in his hands to examine it.
"You always do this," Will sighed. "Come on, Mike, you need to get treated."
"What? Will I already-"
"No, no excuses," Will declared, dragging him over to the bed. He sat Mike down and climbed on his lap, making Mike stutter.
"What are you doing?!"
"Trying to treat you," Will said, like it was obvious.
"But why are you...?!"
He glanced between Will and himself, trying to convey what he meant without words. Apparently, Will either did not care or did not get it because he gave him a look that said "you're a stubborn child" and settled himself on Mike's thighs. Then, Will proceeded to touch his face as gently as he could, prodding at the point where his cheekbone dipped, tracing invisible lines over his forehead and inspecting the jaw like it had something revolutionaryto say.
"It's not that bad," Will finally decided.
"I told you," he said, pinching Will's side to make him jump. Will wobbled to the side, but Mike caught him. "Careful!"
"That was your fault!" Will accused.
Mike shrugged. "Yeah, it was."
"You're the worst."
"I like you, too, Will. But, uh, can I ask you something?"
"Sure," Will said, tucking a strand of Mike's overgrown hair behind his ear.
"Did something happen? You're not usually this... clingy."
"I just wanted to be with you," Will said. "Is that okay?"
"Of course it is! But, you know... with everything that's been going on, I was worried something had happened, and you needed me, and I wasn't here to help."
"What's been going on?" Will innocently asked.
Mike furrowed his eyebrows.
"The... fight? Against Vecna? Don't tell me you don't..."
"Oh!" Will covered his mouth, a shudder going through him. "Right! I... Right! Vecna! I... forgot..."
"It's getting worse," Mike realized, gripping Will just a little tighter. "I... What do you remember?"
"I... It's not like I know what I'm forgetting, Mike," Will said desperately. "I don't know what else I'm forgetting!"
"We need to do something about it. There's no way you're losing all your memories just because he wants you to," Mike said as he hugged Will by the waist.
"What if I forget-?"
"You won't. We'll find a way to fix this. I promise."
Over time, forgotten details became precise memories, which turned into entire periods of their lives that Will couldn't remember. Mike's worry spiked the first time Will forgot a name: Steve's. Sure, he wasn't that close to Will, but he knew him and had interacted with him on at least one important occasion: the Fourth of July in 1985, when the Mind Flayer destroyed Starcourt Mall. Steve was there with them, fighting by their side, bruised up after getting tortured, yet still fighting with what he had. "
"It's okay," Mike had said with Will in his arms as he panicked and apologized under his breath. "It's okay. It's okay."
Except it wasn't.
Faces faded, too. Mike showed him old pictures and, sometimes, Will couldn't identify Dustin's mother or Lucas' sister, even though he'd known them for years. Every time he realized another memory was gone, Will got this heartbreaking expression that made Mike want to find Vecna and kill him with his own hands.
"What are you thinking about?" he once asked while they stayed up late. Mike had been given a few days to rest before going out on the field again and spent the entire day with Will, talking, playing, distracting him from their miserable reality.
"You," Will murmured. His voice sounded a lot rougher these days, like he'd been screaming for hours and hours on end. If the whispers in the halls were anything to go by, he had, overtaken by fits of anger and hatred while Vecna thrust one vision after the other into his brain. Dustin hypothesized that this let him corrupt Will's memories faster, but Mike didn't care about anything beyond finding a solution to his amnesia.
"Me?" he said, gaze fixed on the ceiling.
"Yeah. I'm trying to see if I still remember your face. How to draw you. I've drawn you a lot of times, so I should."
Mike thought back to the painting Will had gifted him in California, which he had managed to save before leaving his home, destroyed by a Demodog attack. The binder, too, had gotten away unscathed, though it was Nancy who had retrieved it while shooting the creatures so the others could run away to safety."I noticed."
"The lips," Will mumbled, lost in thought. Mike was getting increasingly used to it— the moments where Will was elsewhere, far away from there, unattached from his body. "The color. The eyes. The clothes and everything. Everything's just so you at this point. I couldn't draw anyone else like this. It's like I learned to draw you before I learned to draw anyone else."
"Will..." Mike breathed, his eyes glassy and bright.
"It's the only thing I want to do. Draw you. It feels easier than everything else. Easier than these memories. Easier than the voice."
The voice was the newly-given name to Vecna, whom Will had stopped viewing as humanoid and had changed into a bodiless creature; doing that was easier than seeing his face every time he hallucinated.
"I'm trying to remember how to draw the others... everyone else... But it's easier with you. I don't know why. I know that I knew."
"Because we've known each other forever?"
"Yeah... maybe. No, it's something else."
"Because... I'm your boyfriend?"
Will blinked owlishly.
"...Right. You're my boyfriend." Will turned to look at him and gasped. "Oh my God, you're my boyfriend!"
"I am!" Mike said, trying not to break down in tears. He'd tried to keep himself intact in Will's memory, but there was only so much he could do before the first crack appeared. "We've been dating for over a year now."
"But I thought we were just friends!" Will said in awe.
"Yeah, well, not anymore. And just so you know, Byers, I made the first move."
"Well, that's surprising."
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
"You're a bit oblivious, Mike," Will deadpanned. "I mean, you had to date El for a year before realizing that you maybe didn't like her. I've known I l liked you for years, so I'd expect me to be the one to make the first move... not you.
Mike acted like he was offended, quickly squishing Will in a tight embrace.
He's starting to forget you, he thought.
Mike shut that thought up by kissing Will on the lips.
"He's nearly non-responsive today," a doctor explained while they stopped by Will's door. "We think that Vecna showed him something traumatic enough to leave Will in a pseudo-catatonic state. Would you try to see what it was?"
"Yes, ma'am," Mike answered with a straight back, his expression deadly serious. The woman opened the door for him and closed it as soon as Mike went in.
Will's head hung, his stance uncharacteristically relaxed.
"Will?" he said, reaching out to touch him. "It's me. It's Mike. Do you... remember me?"
Slowly, Will lifted his head to look him in the eye, and Mike took a step back in horror: his eyes were empty. So empty, the life sucked right out of them.
"You're... Mike?" he asked. "I... Mike. I know Mike."
"Yeah," he said, kneeling to be at eye level with Will. "It's me. It's Mike. What happened?"
"I... I don't know. I don't know... anything... except for you. Mike."
"Did the voice do this?"
Will frowned, squinting slightly. "There was... someone. In my head. They said that it was 'my time'. They called me 'William'."
"That's your name. That's..." Mike's voice broke.
He'd tried his best to support Will through his struggles, but seeing him not remember his own name was the straw that broke the camel's back. Mike sank to the floor as sobs overwhelmed him, hands instinctively coming up to cover his face. Will looked down at him from his chair, speechless.
"I'm sorry," Mike said through each shaky breath, pressing a fist against his thigh. "I'm... I'm so, so sorry, Will. I'm so sorry..."
"I'm... okay," Will said. He pulled at his restraints and grunted in discomfort when he couldn't get closer. "It's... It's really okay, Mike. I'm okay."
"Now, you're not! You forgot everything! Everything! You're not okay, Will! You don't remember anyone! None of our friends, not even your Mom or Jonathan!"
"I remember you," Will said. "That's a start, right?"
Mike looked up, his drenched face contrasting with Will's clean, calm one.
"How aren't you freaking out?" he couldn't help but ask.
"Because," Will said, "if I remember you, then I can remember everything else. And you came here to see me, so... the least I can do is try to help."
Mike got up, rubbing away his tears. For a moment, he didn't say anything.
"...You're still you."
"Huh?" Will uttered.
"You're still you," Mike repeated. "Even without your memories. How's that?"
He undid Will's bindings and helped him stand up as Will took the room in.
"I don't know... Do you know why I don't remember anything?"
"Yeah. It's a long story," Mike said, rolling his eyes.
Jason Todd loves to sleep with his arms around your waist and his head on your tummy.
He says that it's the best spot where to get lost in: it's warm and, most importantly, a very vulnerable spot— he really likes that you feel so comfortable with him.
Regardless of its shape, softness, tightness, bodily hair, etc, he will make it his personal pillow, snuggling his face against it and kissing it every chance he gets.
He likes it best when you run your hands through his hair or (even better!) speak to him while he slowly falls asleep. Your presence reminds him that he is safe: you are his shelter and his solace.
It's usual for him to want it after a particularly long and hard night, trying to make Gotham a better place for its most defenseless citizens. He doesn't want to wake you up if you're already asleep, but... he needs it more than anything.
Jason will lower himself down on the bed as gently as he can, pull your clothes up, and put his head where it belongs: on you. And if you wake up, he will apologize in whispers, his rough voice a clear indication that he wants to be pampered.
"I know that it's late... still, would you, please? :("
You'd think that what is only a small gesture is actually a panacea.
If you say no, then that's... fine.
Yeah, it's fine.
He'll take longer to sleep, but it's fine: it is always your choice. You might have a difficult day, too, so he gets it. But! He will ask for it again in the morning. And if you don't want to in the morning, he'll back off and then make you breakfast instead because he loves you very much!
If you say yes, he's quietly thrilled, already feeling his eyes falling closed. Jason associates your touch with security; it gives him a cozy feeling, so it's no wonder that he is soon out like a light.
You will wake up with a beautiful man looking like he is in Heaven, at ease, for once.
they really shouldve just given holly's plotline to mike.
imagine the chaos of the madwheeler duo running rampant in vecnas mind.
imagine them being forced to see each others worst memories and recognising the real reason they butt heads so often is because they just cant stand how similar they really are.
imagine they fight because theyre still in denial about their similarities because theyre both self hating idiots, and/or they have some sort of disagreement, maybe about how to escape or maybe max confronts him about how he's treated el in the past.
imagine that right as tensions are highest, they stumble into another memory and max finds out that mikes big secret is that hes in love with will. and he expects her to berate him. to yell at him, say she just knew there was something wrong with him, but of course she doesn't. she just hugs him and tells him its okay. and he's so caught off guard that he doesn't even react at first, but then piece by piece he just starts to break down and cry into her shoulder, because its such a relief to finally just admit it to someone, and the fact that max, someone who isnt very fond of him on a good day, still accepts him honestly just makes her the perfect person to admit it to.
imagine she opens up to him about how it wasn't the music that saved her at all, it was her connection, her love for lucas, and that if he wants to escape he has to accept the same thing for himself. he has to realize what love really tethers him to this world.
Imagine if you put your life on the line for Jason Todd... and got wounded.
Notes: second person, Jason's pov, reader suffered from blood loss after the wound.
TW: Jason having depressive thoughts about himself, akin to feeling as though he 'taints' reader's life with his presence; self-sacrifice on reader's part; very low self-esteem from Jason's part; talk of death.
It wasn't supposed to happen, he'd tell himself.
You weren't meant to get caught in the crossfire. Not you, not you, never you. He should have kept you safe, should have insisted that you stayed away until his throat bled and his voice gave out.
You, selfless, loving you, decided to do something so stupid as to sacrifice himself for him. And for what? Now, you're lying on a gurney, unconscious, weak and vulnerable, and he can't do anything about it— he can't fix his own mistake.
Why would you do it?
You weren't supposed to care that much, and he wasn't supposed to indulge you. And yet, he did: it was too sweet, too nice, not to. For Christ's sake, he loved you; he loved you so much that his heart hurt, but it hurt more to see you almost die because of him.
Should he break up with you? Should he tell you to go? What if you don't accept it? What if you see right through it and see his desperate attempt to keep you safe?
God knows you deserve better than him, a criminal and, basically, a zombie. He should have told you from the get-go that it you would just be unhappy at his side... but he cannot help it: Jason Todd is a selfish creature who loves a selfless one— he already knows that. He also knows that it is all the same to you (love is said to make you crazy, after all). What he doesn't know is how you don't care about yourself a little more. What if it were someone else? Would you have done the same? Would you have thrown your life away so readily? He hopes that you wouldn't. He hopes that you know you're worth everything to so many people, including him.
Undoubtedly, you're everything to him. His feud with Bruce, his vendetta against the others in the family, he would drop if it changed your life for the better in the slightest. However, isn't it safer for you not to be a part of it at all?
He'll offer you anything to make you stay safe, from a private island to a quiet corner in the mountains, if that is what it takes. He'll convince Bruce, somehow, to give him the money. He'll make sure to relocate you quietly so no one chases after you. Just please, let him let you go.
"No."
Of course you'd try to go against him. Come on, can't you see that he just wants to protect you? Does he have to be an asshole for you to cave in?
"Jason, stop," you tell him from where you lie, your voice small but sure. "I'm not gonna leave... I jumped in on my own, no one made me... Not you, not anyone..."
He can't let you think that this is fine just because you didn't die. You could have— the possibility had been there.
"So that just makes it okay, all of a sudden?" he huffs, arms crossed over his chest.
"I didn't say that."
"Sounded like you were."
You seem to be gathering patience with a deep breath, which is understandable, considering your state. He probably is exacerbating you, but if it'll make you like him less and consider not doing it again...
"I know what you're doing."
No, you don't. You can't, because if you do, you'll try to stop him.
"Oh, yeah?" he says sarcastically. "You figured out that I'm trying to let you see how stupid you were? 'Cause if that's it, congratu-!"
"Jason," you interrupt. "I'd do it again. I'd do it a thousand times if it keeps you safe."
His heart cracks a little; he doesn't want you doing that.
"Are you actually trying to get yourself killed?" he bitterly inquires.
You laugh faintly at that, reaching out to take his hand. He, like the bastard he is, gives in and takes it; at least, it comforts you.
"I'm trying to tell you that I love you, you idiot," you say fondly. "And no, I'm not trying to die, but..."
"Don't you dare say that you would be fine with dying if it were for me."
Jason can't tolerate the thought.
"Do you think I'd be fine if you did that? That I wouldn't care to see you die for someone like...?"
His voice trails off, knowing what you think of what he just said. Your hand tightens around his, evidently upset.
"Who is 'someone like you'?"
"You know what I mean."
"I don't, Jay. Tell me."
"Fuck, what do you want me to say? Someone who doesn't deserve you dying over? Someone who doesn't get to be the reason you throw your life away? 'Cause I really am not, and I don't get why you don't see that."
Don't look at him with those eyes. Please, don't. He made you sad again...
"Jason... I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. Then, you'd know that, to me, you're the most important thing of all."
He wishes that, too, a little. There is a level at which he does not meet you, especially regarding both his and your view of himself— he doesn't believe it is alright for someone like—unworthy, coarse, scarred to the core— to get the care you show him.
And yet, his eyes still water at your words, and he leans in to place a kiss on your forehead.
Jason Todd x Lover!Reader from a universe where he never came back to life
TW: self-esteem issues/self-doubt from reader's part; and Jason thinking that he technically is not supposed to be alive.
When you find him, Jason doesn't understand why you're crying so much. Does he know you? Why are you looking at him with such heartbreak?
Then, you tell him that you are from another universe where he stayed dead, and you're his lover, and... oh. Oh.
He doesn't know how to react :/
It's not like he expected to be brought back in the first place, so he's not sure what to tell you.
Regardless, he definitely doesn't want to leave you alone. After all, you're lost between dimensions, and you seem to be relying on him for help, given your shared background where you come from.
So, he makes sure you're okay: he gives you a place to live, food to fill the fridge, and a couple of outfits, 'borrowing' Bruce's ridiculously ample monetary resources.
If anything else is different from your world, he makes sure to ease you into this one's variation.
When you get teary-eyed at the sight of him, he awkwardly asks you if you want him to leave. He doesn't mean to hurt you. He just... is, by what is actually a miracle, an anomaly. Technically, he isn't supposed to be alive; he has grappled with those thoughts before, and your reactions—the small winces you try to mask, the nostalgia in your voice whenever you reflect on your shared past, the sadness in your voice whenever you ask about his life, the one that was stolen away from your Jason— only make them feel more real.
Still, you're one of the few people he doesn't treat much differently from before. You still see him as who he used to be, back when he had not killed anyone, when his mind was not as messed up, and that brings him a little comfort. Having someone tease and banter with him without feeling like they're walking on eggshells is nicer than he would have thought.
And on your side, you can only take advantage of seeing him again. Sure, he looks far more... robust and serious than the boy you remembered, but it is still him at his core. Jason's favorite food still is chili dogs, he still dislikes cloudy days where not a raindrop falls as much as he used to, and he still is overly competitive in video games. Also, it's easy to get along with someone who knows everything about him up to when he was fifteen.
As time passes, and without yet having a solution to get back home, you start to adjust both to the new universe and this new Jason, too. You find that your feelings for him are still there, and that you would be happy being in a relationship with him; he managed to make you fall for him all over again by just being himself.
The problem is that you don't know if he wants to, or if he has even considered it. He has his own life going on, and he probably is only being charitable with you, because he is a good, empathetic person... right?
Oh, boy, you have no idea how much this man wishes he were dating you.
You're literally the best thing that could have happened to him. You're always so good to him, so attentive to what he says, and caring in the big and little ways. No wonder he fell for you: he matters to you, and you make sure he knows it.
But he doesn't want to overstep his boundaries. After all, you lost him where you come from. What if trying to take things further bothers you?
Nonetheless, seeing each other is the highlight of the day. With Jason constantly breaking the law and you being literally out of this world, meetings between the two of you are the best: you feel like he's the silver lining in your situation, and he feels like you're the one person he doesn't need to tear himself apart to get appreciation from.
Which makes everything worse in the long run.
You both are aware that your presence in his universe is dangerous for the multiverse's equilibrium.
Even so, neither of you wants to part from the other.
And neither of you is sure how much longer you can pretend that your circumstances make it impossible for you to be together.
Jason Todd, who calls you 'ma' and 'sweetheart' like they're your actual names.
Jason Todd, who may or may not fantasize about keeping you in bed forever, with an arm wrapped around your waist and the other settled on your warm chest.
Jason Todd, who loves, loves, loves to place his head on your chest, much like a kitten in need of the sunlight's warmth.
Jason Todd, who thinks you're too good for him but would, without a hint of hesitation, kill and die for you. "Trauma?" Who's that? As long as it's for you, there're no odds he can't face.
Jason Todd, who likes to kiss you all over because everything about you is just so precious to him: your tummy, your forehead, your nose, the tip of your fingers, your thighs— you name it.
Jason Todd, who instantly becomes a professional chef the moment you ask him to cook for you. He doesn't even need that, actually: if he sees that you need it, then you're getting the greatest meal you've ever tried.
Jason Todd, who would rather you stay out of his dangerous life. However, if you are already involved, then he will go to whatever lengths necessary to keep you safe.
Jason Todd, who puts your well-being above everything else.
Jason Todd, who adores watching you. Just seeing you be, doing whatever it is you're doing, makes him a lovesick fool. You could be brushing your teeth with a zombie-like face after only two hours of sleep, and he will still come behind you, take you into his arms, and murmur how much you mean to him.
Jason Todd, who holds you after a nightmare, whispering reassuring words against your temple, rocking you back and forth. Don't want to get touched? That's fine, too: he's making you a hot beverage and making sure to stay awake until you feel well enough to go back to sleep.
Jason Todd, who spots you in a crowd like you're the only one there.
Jason Todd, who is immediately soothed by the sound of your voice.
Jason Todd, who makes sure to tell you at least once a day that he loves you.
Jason Todd, who, even during fights, still gets worried about you. He will not take long to knock on your door or send you a message and express regret, shame, or, at the very least, a willingness to talk things out in the future.
Jason Todd, who hates, with a burning passion, people who cheat on their partners. Like, he doesn't get it: how could you betray someone else's trust to the degree that it may take years of therapy for them to heal? Whenever he gets a little mad thinking about it, he asks for you and leaves a few kisses on your neck, swearing never to do something like that to you, because he's "an asshole, but that much of an asshole".
Jason Todd, who is half-convinced that you'll leave him eventually and has decided not to beg for you to stay and let you go, regardless of how much it makes him want to break down.
Jason Todd, who sometimes gets home and needs a big hug where you'll hold him for longer than usual. Please, don't ask. Or ask, but he'll take a sec to get to the root of the issue. Anyway, just hug him, please.
Jason Todd, who fantasizes about a peaceful world where you and he can live at ease.
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