james baldwin was so right when he said “the children are always ours, every single one of them, all over the globe; and I am beginning to suspect that whoever is incapable of recognizing this may be incapable of morality.”
Just a short little thing i wrote a while ago but finally finished by adding descriptions. This is intended to be the first part but I have no idea where its going yet. We'll see. Anyway, let me know what you think! (And if you're picky about timelines...timelines are an illusion)
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Hestia flew through the air, wings beating powerfully, feeling the wind caress her face. Her tail flew behind her and the fur on her ears ruffled as she flew. This was freedom…but it was a caged freedom. A freedom without belonging. Freedom without a home. Without love or security. A lonely freedom. The reality of many mutants. That was what led her to take to the sky today. With one destination in mind she flew. And soon her end point came into view. And with it came hope. Hope for a new start…for a home. Just in sight was Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters.
Hestia slowed down before stealing her nerves and landing in front of the door. The mansion was breathtaking. Large, Victorian architecture loomed before her. Vines arched over the large double doors. The walls off the mansion stretched to the side, the vines following the wooden balustrade along the wall, large arched windows dotted the walls stretching sideways and branching upwards, marking each story. At her back was a gigantic lake. Large, golden fish could be seen swimming beneath the clear water. She took a breath and raised her fist.
Just before she could knock, a smooth voice brushed against her mind and spoke, “Hello there Hestia. Come in. We have been expecting you…” The doors swung open of their own accord. Muttering under her breath ,“that's not creepy at all,’’ she entered. The interior was just as breathtaking as the exterior. Large oak beams arched from the floor, across the walls meeting in the middle of the roof, forming an elaborate flower. The walls were victorian with nothing on them but down the corridors and up the stairs, Hestia could see portraits lining the walls, some bearing a striking resemblance to the person before her.
Hestia's gaze drifted over him. Dark, soft-looking hair framed his face in waves, accentuating his narrow face. His eyes, as wonderfully brown as the bark on the trees outside, seemed to look right through her and inside her in a way that made her shiver. Her eyes drifted downwards taking in his silver wheelchair hovering off the ground, and his legs clad in black trousers..
The man coughed to get her attention. Hestia's eyes snapped upwards, vaguely pleased to note the blush evident on his ears.
“Ah, Hestia. My name is Charles Xavier, Headmaster of the school you stand in. I sensed you coming. I must admit I am intrigued, it isn't very often that we get fully grown mutants arriving here. Tell me what caused you to make this journey?”
The man spoke with a gentle smile designed to put her at ease but still Hestia sensed the pain beneath his smile, buried deep but still there. The cat ears on top of her head twitch at his smooth silky voice. The same one from outside. Her wings and tail twitched as she pondered his question, wondering how much would be wise to reveal.
She decides on a partial truth, “I..I heard you helped people? Mutants? Is that true?”
“Yes, it is Hestia. I founded this school with that goal in mind. To create a safe haven where mutants of all kinds can be themselves and learn to control their powers. To create a home for them. For you”
Home…The word echoed in her mind. Such a simple word yet such complicated emotions attached to it. Hestia couldn't remember when she had last had somewhere to call home….
She hesitates before speaking, taking in his patient smile, "that's a relief. I’d hate to have taken this journey for nothing.” Her attempt at humour falls flat but the professor is kind enough to grace her with a chuckle as he waits for her to continue. “I would like to stay, if that's ok professor?”
His eyes light up at her words. “That is wonderful news Hestia. Let me show you where you’ll be staying. Whilst we walk you can tell me a bit about yourself and your powers. Oh, and Hestia?” He pauses, looking at her. “You may call me Charles. I hardly think you are going to be a typical student here.” He chuckles and starts moving in the direction off the stairs.
Hestia races after him and begins to talk, unable to contain her curiosity as they head down long corridors and up even more stairs. “You were the voice outside, weren't you proffes…Charles?” His name tastes strange as it falls from her tongue. Strange and intimate in a way she can’t quite name.
He glances at her as they move, chuckling. “Indeed. I apologise if I startled you. You must forgive me. I do have a flair for the dramatic. But yes, the voice in your head was me. I am a telepath. I have been since I was young. But enough about me, I wish to know more about you Hestia. I can see you have some non-human features,” his gaze roams over her wings, ears and tail appreciatively in a way that makes her shiver. “But I would like to know more. Do you have any other abilities? Do your features help you? But naturally there is no pressure to answer right away. I merely want to understand so we can help you better.”
“Oh, erm,” she blinks in surprise. “Well yeah my features help me… I have increased strength and agility. And hearing and night vision. But other than that….I can also sense emotions.” The words taste bitter in her mouth, knowing she is not being completely honest. But if he knew…then her search for home would not be a successful one.
Charles looks at her intrigued, not seeming to notice the partial omission. “An empath? Fascinating. That is truly unique. As for your other abilities, I'd like to see them in action if I may. We have a top of the line training room…but that is for tomorrow. For now. Sleep. Rest.”
They come to a stop outside a large wooden door which Charles gently nudges open. Hestia strides in and looks around in wonder. A large four poster bed, with red curtains around it, was placed with the headboard along one wall. The walls were plain fern green and the carpet was soft to the touch, a pale grey. Outside, her large window provided a view of the lake and off the fields beyond.
“It's beautiful,” she breathes.
He chuckles. “I'm glad you like it, Hestia. This is your home now for as long as you want it, feel free to decorate how you want. I'll leave you to settle in and I'll send someone to get you for dinner.” With that, he turned his hoverchair and left the room, the door shutting behind him automatically.
Hestia moved tentatively towards the large floor poster bed and settled on it. The feeling of finally being safe settled over her like a warm blanket, slightly suffocating and heavy but welcome none the less. She lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling as she fell asleep, exhausted. For once the nightmares didn't come.
Note: Hello everyone! Request from @powder-fell-down-a-well. I hope you like it! I'm also working on the other requests! Are you one of them? Just know it's in the oven. Do you have a request? Look on my masterlist for the rules and send me one!
Your likes, reposts and/or comments are very much appericated.
The batcave was in its usual state of controlled chaos.
Armor plates clicked into place. Utility belts were checked, rechecked, then checked again, because someone, Jason, didn’t trust the first two times. The giant monitors glowed softly, casting blue light over black suits and familiar silhouettes.
Bruce stood near the Batcomputer, arms folded, already in full Batsuit except the mask. He looked like a man preparing for battle. Which, technically, he was.
“Why do we have to wear full gear?” Steph asked, tugging at her gloves. “It’s a meet-and-greet, not a hostage negotiation.”
“Justice League headquarters is still a secure location,” Bruce replied automatically. “Protocols matter.”
Jason snorted. “Yeah, because if Superman turns evil again, we’ll be glad we brought grappling hooks.”
“Statistically,” Tim said without looking up his gauntlet, “it’s not impossible.”
Bruce sighed. “Tim.”
Cass stood beside Y/n, adjusting a strap on her own suit with quiet precision. She glanced over, offering a small, reassuring nod. Y/n returned it, grateful. Y/n was already suited up too, snug and familiar. Everything about it felt right. Comfortable. Except for the feeling in her chest.
The Batcave buzzed with easy familiarity. Dick joking with Duke near the stairs. Damian standing too straight, clearly trying to look unimpressed by everything. Jason leaning against a crate like he owned the place. Steph spun a batarang between her fingers until Bruce shot her a look.
Y/n hovered on the edge of it all.
She laughed when Dick said something dumb. She responded when Duke asked her if their comms were synced up. Jason threw her a casual,”You ready?” and she nodded.
But the thought wouldn’t leave.
Did he mean me too?
Bruce cleared his throat. “Alright. We’re on schedule. Let’s move.” Everyone shifted immediately, muscle memory,training. They headed for the exit platform in a loose group, boots echoing against metal. Y/n slowed just a fraction, watching them go ahead of her.
No one told her to stay. No one told her to follow either.
She stopped.
The platform rose anyway, lifting the others toward the exit tunnel. Y/n stood alone beneath the towering cave ceiling, the quiet settling in around her like fog.
He said it was a family thing.
She swallowed. Maybe she’d assumed too much. Y/n turned away, stepping back toward the shadows, already reaching the take of her mask.
“Hold it.”
The platform stopped with a hydraulic hiss.
Bruce’s voice. He turned, scanning the group quickly. One head. Two. Three. His eyes narrowed.
“...Where’s Y/n?”
There was a beat of silence.
Dick blinked. “Wasn’t she with us?” Jason frowned. “She was geared up.” Tim glanced back down the platform. “She didn’t get on.”
Bruce didn’t hesitate, he stepped off the platform and strode back into the cave.
Y/n was halfway to the workbench when she heard footsteps. She turned. Bruce stood there, mask still off, his expression confused more than anything else.
.
“Why aren’t you coming?” he asked.
Her stomach twisted.
“Oh,” she said softly, lowering her head. “Uh…I thought-” she hesitated, then forced the words out. “You said this was a family thing. I just…wasn’t sure if that included me.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Bruce stared at her like she’d just said the cave was on fire and he’d somehow missed it.
“What?”
She shifted her weight, suddenly very aware of how alone she sounded. “I mean, I help, and I’m here a lot, but I’m not-” She gestured vaguely. “I didn’t want to assume.”
Bruce’s shoulders dropped. Just a little.
“Y/n,” he said, voice gentler than it had been all morning, “why wouldn’t it include you?”
She looked up, confused. “Because I’m not family.”
Bruce didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t lecture. He simply shook his head.
“Yes,” he said firmly, “you are.”
She froze. “You fight with us. You train with us. You worry about them,” he continued, glancing briefly toward where the others waited. “You worry about me. You belong here.”
Her throat tightened. “If that doesn’t make family,” Bruce added, “then I don’t know what does.”
He held out his hand.
“Now come on, I’m not recounting everyone again.”
For a second, she couldn’t move. Then she took his hand, following him back to the platform.
+
The watchtower was…a lot.
Even for people who lived in a cave with dinosaur and a sentient computer.
The teleportation pad disengaged with a soft hum, light fading as the Batfamily materialized in a clean, open chamber. Massive windows curved overhead, revealing the slow, endless sprawl of space. Earth hung in the distance, blue, quiet, impossibly fragile.
Y/n froze for half a heartbeat.
“Okay,” Steph muttered. “I don’t care how many times we come here. This is still unfairly cool.”
“Try not to touch anything,” Bruce said automatically, already regretting taking them with him.
Jason leaned towards Y/n. “Bet you ten bucks Damian says something insulting within thirty seconds.”
Damian scoffed. “I do not make insulting observations. I make accurate ones.”
Duke snorted.
Before the argument could escalate, a familiar, warm voice cut through the room.
“Bruce.”
Superman approached from the far end of the chamber, already smiling like this was the highlight of his day. He was in his suit, The suit, cape draped easily over his shoulders, posture relaxed.
Beside him walked Wonder Woman.
Y/n’s breath caught. She’d seen pictures, footage, news clips. That didn’t prepare her for the presence.
Wonder Woman moved with quiet confidence, dark hair moved in the wind like she was in a shampoo commercial, armor gleaming softly under the Watchtower lights. Her gaze was sharp but kind, taking in every detail of the group without making anyone feel inspected.
“Welcome,” Diana said warmly. Her eyes flickered briefly to Y/n, lingering for just a second longer than the others. Not judging. Not curious. Recognizing.
Bruce inclined his head. “Clark. Diana.”
Clark grinned wider. “Looks like the whole crew this time.”
"Unfortunately,” Jason muttered.
“Arthur couldn’t attend. Something along the lines of ocean business,” Bruce added, deadpan.
Flash zipped past the group in a blur of red and yellow, returning to hover casually with a grin. “He still says hi.”
Cyborg walked over with a subtle hum, arms panels flickering. “Good to see you all intact. And Bruce, I upgraded the pads like you asked. Faster transition, fewer glitches.”
Y/n blinked, technology and superheroes everywhere. She could feel her knees tighten slightly, heart trying to negotiate between excitement and nerves.
“That must be Y/n,” Clark said suddenly, turning his attention fully to her. Her spine straightened on instinct. “Uh,hi. Yes. That’s me.”
“She heard a lot about you,” Jason said teasingly. “Mostly good. Some exaggerated.”
Dick elbowed him. “I never exaggerate.”
Diana stepped closer, offering her hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
Y/n shook it carefully, half-expecting…something. Strength, power or maybe judgment?
Instead, Diana’s grip was steady and warm.
“You fight alongside them. That tells me more than any report.”
Y/n’s cheek warmed. “I try.”
Bruce cleared his throat. “This is a briefing visit. Short.” Clark raised an eyebrow. “You say that every time.”
They moved into the main conference area, the long table already set with holographic displays. The Batkids spread out like they owned the place, claiming seats like it was their living room. Y/n lingered near the end of the table, unsure, until Cass nudged her gently toward an empty chair.
As the briefing began, something about interdimensional monitoring, intelligence sharing, and threats of an unspecified cosmic nature. Y/n found herself half-listening, half-observing.
Clark leaned casually against the table, cape pooled at his feet, listening intently whenever Bruce spoke. Diana’s attention shifted constantly, tracking micro-expressions, tension, body language. Flash fidgeted, leaning on one leg, thumbs twirling, and Cyborg’s interface glowed softly as he absorbed every data point.
Bruce, tired but always precise, noticed Y/n’s subtle stiffness, the way she hovered at the edge of participation, hands fidgeting with her gloves, eyes scanning instead of resting.
“You seem uncertain,” he said quietly, voice low enough for her only to hear.
Y/n blinked. “I…I don’t know if I should-”
“Your thoughts are welcome,” Bruce said simply. “Tell me how you’d handle a containment mission if this group needed one.”
Her breath hitched. All eyes weren’t on her, but she felt the subtle pull, the gravity of attention. “Uh, well,” she started, voice shaking just slightly. “I’d first assess the perimeter, check for environmental risks, and make sure all team members have clear extraction paths. I’d assign cover to anyone monitoring for hostile activity while the primary objective is secured. If anyone’s compromised, I’d create a decoy to draw them out. And if things escalate… I’d rely on the team, I know their strengths and weaknesses, so I’d adapt on the fly.”
There was a pause. Even Jason was quiet.
Diana raised an eyebrow, impressed. “A clear, strategic mind. I see why they trust you.”
Clark nodded, a little grin tugging at his lips. “Exactly the kind of thinking that keeps people alive. Very impressive.”
Barry leaned forward, thumbs twirling. “Dude. That’s really solid. You’re basically a tactical calculator with style.”
Victor hummed. “Yeah, that’s an actual tactical evaluation that’s better than some contingency protocols I’ve seen.”
Y/n’s cheeks burned, she ducked her gaze at the table.
Bruce’s expression softened slightly, a rare flicker of pride passing behind his otherwise unreadable expression.
The briefing wrapped without ceremony.
Bruce shut down the holographic display with a practical flick of the wrist. “That’s all for now. We’ll coordinate follow-up through secure channels.”
Clark smiled. “You know you’re welcome to stay a bit. No emergencies for at least…,” he glanced toward Barry, “Five minutes?”
Barry snapped his fingers. “Hey! That’s a record!”
Bruce briefly hesitated, then surprisingly nodded. “Five minutes.”
The Batkids reacted like he’d just given them recess. Dick immediately hopped up onto the edge of the table. “Okay,” he said brightly, turning to Barry, “Barry. Question.”
Barry appeared beside him in a blur. “Already invested.”
“Hypothetically,” Dick continued, lowering his voice like this was extremely serious business, “if we race around the Watchtower in opposite directions, would we meet in the middle or phase through each other?”
Barry’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god. I’ve been wondering that for years.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “No.” Victor crossed his arms. "Absolutely not. That sounds like a structural nightmare.”
Dick and Barry looked at each other. “...But just hypothetically,” Barry said. “Pure theoretical,” Dick agreed.
Jason leaned back in his chair. “Ten bucks says they ignore everyone and try it anyway.
Steph was already pulling out her phone. “I’m recording."
Cass wandered towards the window, staring out at Earth in silence. Damian joined her, arms folded, posture stiff but eyes wide despite himself.
Y/n stayed where she was for a moment, then found herself drifting closer to the group without really thinking about it. The tension she’d been carrying since the Batcave had loosened, replaced by something warmer, lighter.
She leaned against the table near Clark as Barry zipped back to his spot, vibrating with barely-contained energy.
“So,” Barry said, grinning at her, “what’s like working with that many brooding types?” Y/n snorted before she could stop herself. “Loud, surprisingly loud.”
Jason pointed at her. “See? She gets it.” Clark laughed softly, the sound easy and genuine. Y/n glanced at him, really looked this time. The suit. The cape. The way he somehow made standing in space the most normal thing there is, but then again he is an alien. A thought had been poking at her brain for a while now.
“Hey,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Can I ask something?”
“Sure.”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “Your disguise. As…you know. Clark Kent.”
Barry perked up. “Oh, this is my favorite topic.”
Clark smiled. “What about it?”
Y/n gestured vaguely towards his face. “The glasses. The posture. The whole thing. Does it really work that well?”
Clark chuckled. “It’s not just the glasses. It’s how I carry myself. Different cadence, different body language. People see what they want to see.”
She considered that, brow furrowing. “But you never…accidentally take them off?” She asked. “Like under stress? Or when you’re exhausted? Do you get tired? Anyway or when you rub your face and forget?”
Jason muttered. “Yeah, I’d blow that in five minutes.”
Clark laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve come close. A few times.”
Y/n’s eyes widened. “And?”
“And most people don’t notice,” he said simply. “Theyn rationalize it away. ‘Oh, he looks kind of like Superman,’ and then they laugh at themselves for thinking something so ridiculous.”
Barry grinned. “Humans are wild like that.”
Y/n huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “So you’re telling me the world’s greatest secret is held together by glasses and posture?”
She leaned back against the table, arms crossed loosely. “That’s…both impressive and terrifying.”
Bruce watched the exchange from a short distance away, arms folded, posture weary but relaxed. His gaze lingered on Y/n for a second longer than the rest, and noticed the way she laughed freely now, shoulders no longer tight, standing among them like she’d always been there.
He looked tired but content.
For five quiet minutes, in a room full of gods and vigilantes and too many children who refused to sit still, things felt…normal.
And that, somehow, was the rarest thing of all.
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Note: Hello everyone! I'm so sorry for the constant delay, to be honest not my favorite chapter. I feel like I couldn't give it my all, but I tried and that's all that matters. I've to keep in mind that I'm still a beginner and all of this is new to me. Big thank you to my bestie for reading and correcting stuff, because I was losing my mind. I'd tag her but silly doesn't have an tumblr account. I hope you like it!
Your likes, reposts and/or comments are very much appericated.
< Chapter 3- Chapter 5 >
Pain arrived first.
Not sharp, not sudden, but everywhere. A deep, grinding ache that threaded through his shoulders and down his arms, heavy and insistent, like his bones were being pulled apart one inch at a time. His wrists burned. Not the clean sting of a fresh cut, but the raw, grinding heat of metal against his skin, friction layered over pressure layered over time.
His breath hitched.
His eyes flew open.
For a split second, he didn’t understand what he was seeing. The ceiling was too far away, swallowed by darkness. Light, harsh and white, cut down from somewhere above, catching on dust in the air. The world tilted when he tried to move.
That was when the chains answered him. They groaned, low and metallic, the sound vibrating straight through his arms and into his chest.
Jason froze.
His heart slammed into his ribs, wild and uncoordinated. Panic surged so fast it stole the air from his lungs. He sucked in a breath that scraped his throat raw and tried to pull his arms down. Pain exploded through his shoulders.
A sharp, helpless sound tore out of him before he could stop it, half a gasp, half a growl. His muscles spasmed, reflexively fighting the restraint, and the chains bit deeper into his wrists.
He sagged instinctively.
His feet scraped concrete. Barely.
The tips of his toes dragged along the floor, enough to keep him from fully hanging, not enough to give him relief. His heels hovered uselessly above the ground. Every ounce of his weight pulled downward, stretching his shoulders, wrenching his arms back and up at an angle that made his vision blur at the edges.
No,no,no.
He forced himself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through clenched teeth.
The air was stale. Cold. It tasted like rust and old oil and something faintly chemical underneath. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out everything else.
Think. Don’t panic.
Easier said than done.
Jason turned his head slowly, careful not to sway too much. The room revealed itself in pieces: concrete walls disappearing into shadow, stains he didn’t want to look at too closely, the faint outline of industrial equipment pushed against the wall. No windows. No obvious exits. Just darkness.
A warehouse, maybe. Or a storage facility. Somewhere forgotten.
Joker.
The name slid into his mind uninvited, heavy and poisonous. The memory of their altercation comes back in flashes.
Jason swallowed, throat tight.
He tested his wrists, rotating them a fraction of an inch. The chains were looped tight, reinforced. Cold iron pressed into his skin already rubbed raw. Any real struggle would tear flesh long before it bent metal.
Okay. Fine.
He let his head fall forward for a moment, chin brushing his chest. His hair hung into his eyes, damp with sweat. His breathing came fast and shallow, but he forced it to slow down, counting each inhale, each exhale.
You don’t waste energy panicking.
That was rule one.
His toes slid again, an involuntary reflex as his legs searched for relief. The scrape echoed softly across the floor. The sound felt too loud, too exposed, like he was announcing his existence to the room.
Jason stilled, he listened.
Nothing.
No footsteps, no laughter. No voice drifting from the shadows. Just the faint hum of electricity somewhere far off and the slow creak of chains responding to his breathing.
He was alone. For now, the realization didn’t comfort him the way it should have. Alone meant time and time in Joker’s hands, was never neutral.
Jason began cataloging damage, forcing his mind into familiar territory. Wrists raw, already burning, no numbness yet, good. That meant circulation hadn’t fully cut off. His arms were shaking slightly, not weakness yet, just strain. His back was arched, muscles screaming as it worked overtime to stabilize him. His legs were tense, calves burning as he stayed on the balls of his feet. Toes dragging just enough to keep him upright.
His shoulders were the worst of them all. A deep, spreading pain that warned him exactly how long he could stay like this before something gave out.
Designed, he thought grimly. This is designed.
If he fully collapsed, all his weight would snap down onto his shoulders. If he tried to stand too much, he’d lose what little leverage he had. If he thrashed, he’d bleed and exhaust himself quicker.
It was a balance. A cruel one.
Jason shifted his weight carefully, dragging one foot a few inches to the side, then the other. The movement was tiny, barely noticeable, but it changed the angle of the pull just enough to send a sharp spike of pain through his arms.
He hissed through his teeth and stopped.
He adjusted again, slower this time, micro-movements only. A slight bend in the knees. A controlled drop of his heels that immediately sent fire up his legs, forcing him back onto his toes.
His mind raced, searching for options.
There was no chair to kick out. No crate to hook a foot under. No pipe low enough to brace against. Joker knew exactly how to remove leverage without fully immobilizing him.
Jason laughed softly under his breath, a humorless sound that echoed too much.
“This is just great,” he muttered hoarsely to the empty room.
The sound of his own voice grounded him, just a little. Reminded him he was still here. Still thinking.
He tried to estimate time. How long had he been out? Minutes? Hours? His body felt like it had already been suspended too long, muscles protesting the unfamiliar strain.
His throat was dry. Swallowing hurt.
They took my gear, he realized. No helmet, no comms. Just his clothes, torn, damp, sticking to his skin. His boots were gone too, leaving his feet exposed to the cold concrete.
A calculated move. He dragged his toes again, just a fraction, testing friction. The concrete was rough enough to catch skin if he pushed too hard. Another calculated cruelty.
Jason’s breathing steadied as his panic ebbed into something colder and sharper. Fear was still there, loud, insistent, but it was no longer in control. He began experimenting in earnest. A small sway to the left. Chains creaked. A controlled sway to the right. More creaking. The anchor point held firm.
He rotated his wrist again, carefully, ignoring the way the metal bit deeper. The chains links were thick, industrial. No weak points he could feel. No slack to exploit.
His shoulders trembled, muscles threatening to give. He immediately shifted weight onto his toes again, calves screaming as they took some of the load.
You can do this, he told himself. You’ve had worse.
Time crawled. Minutes stretched long and indistinct, measured only by the growing burn in his arms and the ache settling deep into his bones. He lost track of how many times he adjusted his stance, how many times his muscles spasmed and he had to fight to keep control. One of his legs buckled unexpectedly.
His heart lurched into his throat as his heels dropped fully, his weight snapping down into his shoulders. White-hot pain exploded through him, stars bursting behind his eyes. He cried out, a sharp, broken sound, before clamping his jaw shut.
Idiot.
He scrambled to recover, dragging his toes hard against the concrete until his calves screamed and his heels lifted again. The relief was minimal, but it was enough to keep his shoulders from tearing.His breath came fast and ragged.
Focus.
He forced himself to slow it again, counting heartbeats this time. Anything to keep his mind occupied. Anything to keep it from spiraling. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped. Slow. Steady. A metronome marking time he couldn’t see.
Jason tilted his head back, staring into the light. It hurt his eyes, but he welcomed the distraction.Sweat dripped down into his lashes, blurring his vision.
His arms shook harder now, fatigue creeping in despite his efforts. His wrists burned, skin screaming with every tiny movement. He could already feel blisters forming, raw patches where the metal had rubbed too long. Blood would come soon. Jason swallowed, jaw tight.
Okay. So what’s the play?
Escaping right now was unlikely. He knew that. Whatever restraint held him was meant to last. But staying alert mattered. Conserving energy mattered. Not letting fear take over mattered.
And if, when Joker showed up…
Jason’s expression hardened.
He wouldn’t give him what he wanted. Another twitch ran through his arm, muscle spasming under the strain. His heart skipped, panic flaring again before he forced it down. He adjusted quickly, compensating, breathing through the pain.
Control the body, he told himself. Then control the situation.
Jason couldn’t tell when the first hour ended and the second began, only that something shifted. The pain stopped being loud and sharp and became constant, a grinding presence that sank into his muscles and refused to leave. His shoulders felt swollen, overworked, like they were being held together by willpower alone. Every breath pulled against them. Every swallow hurt.
Sweat cooled against his skin, turning clammy in the stale air.
His calves trembled in earnest now. The careful balance he’d found earlier was slipping, his legs struggling to compensate for the strain in his arms. He dragged his toes across the concrete again, slower this time, friction biting into his skin.
Stay upright, he told himself. Just stay upright.
The room felt smaller.
Not physically, but mentally, like the walls were inching closer, like the darkness pressed in when he wasn’t watching it. The hum of electricity seemed louder now, pulsing faintly through the room. The drip of water somewhere in the distance had grown maddeningly steady.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Jason clenched his jaw.
Ignore it.
He shifted again, carefully redistributing his weight. His wrists screamed in protest. He could feel warmth trickling down his forearms now, sweat, blood, or both. He didn’t look. Looking would make it real. A sudden dizziness washed over him, fast and disorienting.
He sucked in a sharp breath and held it, grounding himself. His vision blurred at the edges, the light above smearing into something hazy and unfocused.
Okay. That’s new.
Dehydration, probably. Or shock. Or his body starting to complain louder. Jason forced himself to blink slowly, counting each one. Five. Ten. Fifteen. The world steadied.He tilted his head slightly, listening again. That was when he heard it.
Footsteps. Slow. Unhurried. Echoing faintly against concrete.
Jason’s muscles went rigid on instinct. Pain flared and his body reacted before his brain could stop it. The chains rattled softly.The footsteps stopped.
Silence stretched. Then.
A laugh. Low at first. Almost thoughtful. Like someone amused by an inside joke.Jason closed his eyes.
Here we go.
“Well, well,” the voice drawled, drifting easily through the dark. “You always did wake up faster than expected.” The light shifted. A second bulb flickered on somewhere to Jason’s left, illuminating a slice of the room he hadn’t seen before. Metal shelves. A worktable. Tools laid out neatly, almost lovingly. And leaning casually against the table, hands folded behind his back:
The Joker.
His suit was wrinkled, the purple dulled with grime. Green hair slicked back unevenly, like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. His smile stretched wide, familiar and deeply wrong. Jason exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Thought I told you,” he rasped, voice raw. “I don’t do surprise parties.” Joker clapped his hands together, delighted. The sound cracked sharply through the room. “Oh, but that’s the best kind! No expectations! No disappointment!”
He stepped closer, his footsteps echoing again, stopping just outside Jason’s reach. Joker turned his head, inspecting him like a piece of art hung too high on the wall. “Tsk,tsk,” he hummed. “You look tired. We’ve got to do something about that, shall we?”
Jason’s fingers curled reflexively, chains biting deeper. His shoulders screamed, but he didn’t react outwardly. Joker’s smile twitched.He circled Jason slowly, footsteps deliberate, shoes scraping just enough to stay heard. Jason tracked him with his eyes, neck protesting as he turned his head inch by inch.
“You know,” Joker continued. “I almost didn’t use chains. Thought about nails. Thought about hooks. But this?” He gestured vaguely at Jason’s arms. “This lets you participate. I’m generous like that.”
Jason swallowed.
A gloved finger pressed lightly into Jason’s spine. Jason hissed despite himself, muscles tightening involuntarily. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his shoulders, his arms trembling harder now. Joker laughed, delighted. “Oh, that’s new. Sensitive already? We’re making progress!”
Jason forced his breathing to steady again, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. He refused to give Joker more than he already had. “Have a lot of time to plan this?” Jason asked hoarsely. “Or did you miss me that much?”
Joker leaned around into his line of sight, face inches away. His breath smelled faintly of chemicals and something sweetly rotten.“I missed the family,” he corrected. “You’re just the invitation.” Jason’s stomach dropped. Before he could respond, Joker stepped back abruptly, clapping his hands again. “Now, let’s check the hardware!”
He reached up suddenly and yanked one of the chains downward. Jason cried out, the sound ripped from him as his shoulder jolted violently. His feet lost contact with the floor entirely for a split second before his toes scraped back down, barely catching him.
Pain exploded through his arms. His vision went white, then dark at the edges. He gasped, chest heaving.
Jason hung there, shaking, breath coming in ragged pulls. His arms felt numb now, a dangerous, creeping numbness that scared him more than the pain.
Don’t black out, he begged silently. Not now.
Joker tilted his head, studying him. “You know you always were my favorite test subject. So much grit. So much anger. It’s like pulling teeth, but the teeth fight back.”
Jason forced himself to lift his head, eyes burning. “Get it over with,” he spat. “Whatever this is.”
Joker’s expression softened into something almost fond.
“Oh, no,no,no,” he said gently. “We’re just getting started.”
He turned away, strolling back towards the shadows, turning the lights off, his laughter trailing behind him like a stain.
Jason learned quickly that the Joker didn’t believe in silence.
The moment the light cut earlier, Jason assumed, hoped, it meant a temporary reprieve. Time to breathe. Time to recalibrate. Time to let his muscles settle into misery without someone actively making it worse.
But the footsteps never truly left.
They just shifted.
Soft shoes against concrete. The faint rustles of fabric. Joker moving somewhere just beyond the edge of the light, deliberately out of sight but never out of earshot. Like a predator circling, letting its presence sink in.
Jason swallowed, throat dry and burning.
His arms shook uncontrollably now. Not violently, worse than that. Small, persistent tremors that refused to stop. The kind that meant muscles were exhausting themselves trying to hold on. His toes scraped weakly against the floor.
Don’t lock your knees.
Don’t let the weight hang fully.
Don’t panic.
“Y’know,” Joker said casually from the dark, “most people scream by now.”
Jason forced a breath through his nose.
A light flickered on again, brighter this time, harsher, angled straight at Jason’s face. He blinked against it, eyes stinging as his pupils struggled to adjust. White spots danced across his vision, his jaw tightening.
“Let’s talk about control,” Joker said brightly. “See, you’ve had a lot of it. Even hanging there, you’re managing. Shifting weight, thinking how to breathe, planning.”
He pouted exaggeratedly. “That simply won’t do.”
Joker pressed a button.
Pain slammed into Jason without warning.
Not sharp. Not cutting.
Electrical.
Jason’s body convulsed violently, muscles seizing as a jolt tore through his arms, shoulders, spine. His feet kicked out uselessly, toes scraping desperately as his grip on control vanished in an instant.
A strangled sound ripped from his throat.
The shock stopped as abruptly as it began.
Jason gasped, chest heaving, vision swimming. His arms burned like they’d been doused in fire. The numbness vanished, replaced with a screaming sensation.
Joker tilted his head. “See? Predictable pain lets you brace for it. This?” He waggled the remote. “This keeps you guessing.”
Jason swallowed hard, sweat dripping down his temple.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “Real creative.”
Joker clicked his tongue. “Don’t be rude. You haven’t even seen the settings yet.”
He paced closer, his shoes tapping against the concrete. Jason’s body betrayed him with another shudder, muscles flinching in anticipation.
Joker noticed. “Ohhh,” he cooed. “That’s the look. That little twitch? That’s uncertainty setting in.” He pressed another button.
Nothing happened.
Jason sucked in a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Joker laughed loudly. “Oh, that was cruel, wasn't it?” Jason’s teeth ground together. He refused to look away.
The next shock came five seconds later.
Stronger.
Jason screamed this time. There was no stopping it. His body arched against the chains, shoulders screaming as the strain multiplied. His toes slipped, losing friction as his weight dragged fully against his wrists for a horrifying second.
The pain cut out. He sagged, gasping, lungs burning, arms trembling violently.
Joker watched him like a scientist observing a reaction.
“Now,” Joker said slightly, “that was controlled, well by me. Same voltage. Same duration. Clean. Efficient.” He crouched slightly, meeting Jason’s eye line. “But tell me, Jason, did it feel worse than the first one?”
Jason’s vision blurred. He forced it to focus. Refusing to answer him.Joker beamed. “I’ll take that as a yes! And that was because you didn’t know when it was coming.”
He stood again, strolling away, humming tunelessly. “And here’s the fun part,” he said, voice dropping just slightly. “I don’t even need the button.”
Jason frowned faintly.
Joker leaned in close again, smiling sharply. “Because now? You’ll feel it whenever I press it or not,” Joker lets out a manic laugh. Jason’s stomach twisted.
Joker straightened, clapping once more. “Let’s try something else!” He reached out and suddenly shoved Jason’s chest. Not hard. Just enough.
Jason’s balance broke instantly. His feet slipped fully off the ground, toes scraping uselessly as his entire weight yanked down on his wrists. White-hot pain exploded through his shoulders.
Jason roared, head snapping back as the chains rattled violently overhead, pulling him up. His arms burned, tendons screaming, vision tunneling.
Joker stepped back and watched.
Counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then he let Jason’s toes scrape back down, just barely catching enough friction to reduce the strain.
Jason collapsed into ragged breathing, sweat pouring freely now, arms shaking so badly he could barely keep himself upright.
Joker signed contentedly. “Unpredictable physical pain. No tools needed.”
Jason forced himself to lift his head, breathing hard. “You done?”
Joker’s smile faded.
“Oh,” he said, softly. “We’re just warming up.”
He leaned casually against the nearby table, folding his arms. “Tell me, Jason… how long do you think it’ll take before someone notices you’re gone?”
Jason didn’t answer.
Joker didn’t need him to.
“Batman?” Joker mused. “Always so busy. So many little birds to keep track of.” He tilted his head. “Though he does have that one who worries too much.”
Jason’s breath stuttered.
Joker’s eyes gleamed.
“There it is".
Jason clenched his jaw. “Don’t.”
“Oh, come on,” Joker said pleasantly. “I’m being gentle. Just conversation.”
He pushed off the table, strolling closer again. “She’s clever, isn’t she? Resourceful. Sharp. Always watching.”
Jason’s heart pounded hard enough to hurt.
Don’t react.
Joker circled him slowly. “I almost admire it. The way she slips through places she shouldn’t be. She almost caught me a few times. The way she looks at you like you’re something worth saving.”
“You didn’t think I would notice,” he said softly. "Did you?”
Jason’s voice came out rough. “You touch her-”
Joker laughed, sharp and delighted. “There it is! Anger! Took you long enough.” He leaned in close, eyes gleaming. “Relax. You’re not the punchline.”
Dread pooled in Jason’s stomach. “You’re the bait.”
Joker straightened, pressing the remote again. The shock was brief. Almost merciful.
Jason gasped, muscles jerking violently, breath tearing out of him. Joker watched him recover, expression thoughtful. “See, pain’s only interesting when it means something.”
He gestured vaguely between them. “This? This is tradition. Nostalgia.” Then he tapped Jason’s chest, right over his heart. “But she?” Joker grinned. “She’s new.”
Jason’s vision swam, fury and fear tangling dangerously in his chest. Joker stepped back, satisfied.
“We’ll talk more later,” he said cheerfully. “Right now, I want you tired.”
He flicked the light off again, but stayed. Jason could still hear him breathing in the dark.
Jason didn’t know how much time had passed.
That realization alone was enough to make his stomach turn.
He’d tried to count at first, breaths, heartbeat, the slow drip of sweat sliding down his spine, but pain distorted rhythm. Shocks came without a pattern. Weight shifts stole focus. At some point, numbers stopped lining up the way they should.
Time had gone soft around the edges.
Which was exactly what Joker wanted.
Jason didn’t hear the footsteps this time. That was how he knew he was losing ground. The darkness had been thick for a while, long enough that his eyes stopped trying to adjust. His arms burned with a deep, nauseating ache that had long since passed sharp pain and settled into something worse.
The light came back in without warning.
Jason flinched hard, shoulders screaming as his muscles spasmed at the sudden change.
His toes scraped against the floor, barely catching enough friction to keep his weight from fully dropping again.
Joker stood directly in front of him this time.
Close.
“Booh!” Joker’s laugh cut through the silence. “Round of applause! You’re doing great, Jason!”
Jason’s head lolled forward, breath shuddering. He forced it back up through sheer stubbornness, jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth ache.
Joker was holding something this time.
The crowbar hung loose in his grip, black paint chipped and darkened with old stains that Jason didn’t need help identifying. His stomach dropped. Joker circled slowly around him.
“Ah-ah,” Joker sang lightly, noticing the flicker of recognition. “Don’t go all nostalgic on me just yet. We’re making new memories.”
He strolled closer, humming off-key. “You know, people think this thing’s all about brute force. Smash,smash,smash.” He tapped the crowbar against his palm. “But that’s lazy.”
He stopped directly in front of Jason.
Without warning, Joker swung.
The crowbar struck his ribs, low and precise.
Jason gasped sharply as pain exploded through his side. His body jerked reflexively, his toes scraping frantically as his weight dropped and then was yanked back by the chains.
His wrist screamed.
Joker hummed, pleased. “See? It wasn’t that hard!”
Jason sucked in a ragged breath, vision tunneling. His arms shook violently now, muscles firing without coordination as his nervous system misfired under the overload.
“Controlled pain,” Joker said brightly. “That’s the theme today.”
He struck again.
Same spot.
Jason cried out this time, a raw, broken sound he couldn’t stop. His knees buckled, toes barely catching enough friction to keep him from fully hanging.
The crowbar pressed under his chin, lifting his face.
Jason’s jaw trembled as he tried to breathe through it. His hands twitched against the chains, fingers curling, then spasming open.
Joker’s eyes flicked to his hands instantly.
“What was that?” He let out a manic laugh. “Your body’s talking without asking you first.”
He stepped back and swung the crowbar again, this time at Jason’s thigh.
The impact sent a jolt of agony straight through his leg. His foot kicked out sharply. Jason shouted, breath tearing free of his lungs as his entire lower body spasmed.
Joker laughed so hard he had to steady himself against a crate.
“Oh, I love this part,” he wheezed. “The lost look in your eyes!”
Jason’s chest heaved. His vision swam. His muscles betrayed him in sharp, ugly bursts. Legs jerking, hands twitching, shoulder spasming as his nerves misfired under the strain.
He couldn’t stop it.
Joker circled him slowly again, the crowbar dragging lightly along the concrete.
Scrape.
Scrape.
“You know what exhaustion does?” Joker mused. “It strips away choice. Leaves you with reflexes and instinct.” He leaned in close. “And instincts are so easy to play with.”
Jason forced the words out through clenched teeth. “You…won’t get… what you want.”
Joker paused, then he laughed again, but this time quieter.
“Oh, Jason,” he said softly. “You still think you’re the point.”
He straightened and tapped the crowbar against Jason’s knee.
“Tell me,” Joker continued conversationally, “who do you think will panic more over this?”
Jason swallowed hard.
“A big bat that had you replaced in no time…” Joker tilted his head. “...Or the one person you keep trying to protect?"
Jason’s breath hitched, Joker’s smile widened.
He stepped back and struck Jason’s shoulder, harder this time.
Jason screamed, the sound ripping out of him as his body convulsed violently. His hands spasmed against the chains. He gasped for air, chest heaving, his arms shaking uncontrollably now.
Joker’s grin turned razor-sharp.
The blow came without warning.
Not a tease.
Not a measured strike.
The crowbar cracked across Jason’s face with a sickening, hollow sound.
His head snapped sideways violently, neck screaming as momentum tore through him. The world spun, light fracturing into useless shards as his teeth slammed together hard enough that he tasted blood instantly, metallic, thick, flooding his mouth.
The sound that ripped out of him was raw and broken, echoing off the walls before he even knew he’d made it.
“That’s the face!”Joker laughed.
Jason’s body reacted faster than his thoughts. His arms jerked violently against the chains, shoulders screaming as the sudden movement wrenched them past tolerance. He gagged, coughing wetly, head lolling forward. Blood dripped from his lip, warm against his chin.
Joker tilted his head, studying him like a piece of art. “You know,” he lectured, “everyone thinks it’s the body that breaks first.”
He tapped the crowbar against Jason’s jaw once. Not hard. Just enough.
“But it’s really orientation,” Joker continued. “Take away up and down. Take away control. The brain hates that.”
Jason’s vision swam. He tried to focus, to anchor himself to something real. He forced himself to breath through his nose, shallow and shaky. His jaw ached where it had been struck. His face throbbed in time with his pulse.
The next strike wasn’t to his jaw.
It was worse.
The crowbar came up fast and brutal, the flat end slamming across Jason’s face at an angle that clipped his cheekbone and smashed into his eye socket. Pain detonated behind his eyes, sharp and blinding, like glass shattering inside his skull.
He screamed again, this one strangled and panicked.
His vision collapsed into stars and red static. One eye burned white-hot, tears flooded instantly, blurring the little light remaining. His head snapped back, the chains snapping as his shoulders screamed in protest.
Joker hummed approvingly.
“Oooh,” he crooned. “That’s a sensitive one.”
Jason gagged, coughing, breath coming in broken gasps as his eyes throbbed relentlessly. He tried to blink it away, but it only made the pain worse, like grinding grit beneath his eyelid.
His body was betraying him again.
A sharp jerk ran through both arms. His fingers twitched violently, scraping against the metal as his weight shifted. His toes skidding as his knees buckled.
Tap. Scrape.
Jason clenched his jaw, forcing his breath to stay shallow, controlled. His eye pulsed with agony, vision uneven now, one side dim and smeared, the other too bright and too sharp.
Joker laughed loudly, stepping closer so Jason could see every wrinkle on his face. Joker lifted the crowbar again. “Now, here’s the fun part,” he said proudly. “You don’t get to choose when I hurt you. That’s my job!”
He tapped the crowbar once against Jason’s ribs. Not hard. A promise.
Then he stepped back.
“Sit tight.”
The light snapped off again, Joker leaving the room this time.
Jason sagged forward as much as the chains allowed, breath shuddering. His eye throbbed relentlessly now, swollen shut, vision reduced to smears and shadows. His wrists burned. His shoulders screamed. Every muscle in his body vibrated with exhaustion and shock.
And still his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Tiny tremors ran through his fingers. His grip flexed uselessly against the chains, scraping metal again and again in short, broken movements.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Pause.
Jason froze.
His chest tightened painfully,
No.
Another one followed.
Tap.
His breath caught hard in his throat.
The rhythm wasn’t clean. It wasn’t intentional.
But it was close enough that his brain latched onto it like a drowning man grabbing wreckage.
And suddenly, he wasn’t here anymore.
The roof of the abandoned auto shop raffled faintly under the weight of their boots, the humid Gotham night pressing down on them. At fifteen, they were old enough to know the streets, they learned that too soon, but young enough to feel invincible.
Jason crouched beside Y/n, legs pulled up against his chest. His hair clung wet to his forehead from the clammy summer night, droplets of sweat sliding down his face. He leaned closer, voice low.
“We’ve got eyes on us.”
Y/n followed his gaze. A man lingered down below, too tall to go unnoticed, coat too thick for the summer heat. Observant, patient.
“What do we do?” she whispered, not taking her eyes off the suspicious guy.
Jason grinned like it was a dare. “We communicate. Quietly.”
He tapped a knuckle against the metal railing.
Tap.Tap-tap. Pause. Tap.
Y/n squinted. “What’s that?”
“Code. Our code,” he said. “Just…ignore the patterns everyone else knows. We make it ours.”
She tiled her head. “Our code for what?”
“For everything. Cops. Muggers. Anyone listening. Just…for us. Only us.”
He showed her the rhythm again.
Tap.Tap-tap.Pause.Tap.
Y/n tried to mimic it. Her fingers didn’t land the same. He corrected her grip, thumb and forefinger, a subtle adjustment.
“It’s not just about the beat,” he said. “It’s about meaning, timing and placement,”
She rolled her eyes but leaned closer. “Fine. So what’s what?”
He shrugged, expression serious for once. “Not letters. Not numbers. Not anything obvious. Just…signals.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing in thought. “One tap? Means ‘move left.’ Two taps? ‘Move right.’ Three taps?’ Here. And the pause… pause means ‘watch out.’ Or ‘wait.’ It depends.”
Y/n frowned. “Depends on what?”
“Depends on what we need. Depends on what’s happening.” His grin returned, mischievous but sharp. “And,uh…if it’s really bad… you’ll just know.”
She laughed quietly, but there was a shiver under it. “So it’s a code with no fixed key. That’s kind of insane.”
Jason leaned back, letting the setting sun shine down on his face, the burnt-orange light making him look almost innocent. “Exactly. Insane enough that nobody else will get it.”
He tapped a short sequence.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap.Tap.
“Okay,” Y/n said, eyes narrowing, fingers itching to respond. “That could mean anything.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But someday, you’ll get it. You’ll know exactly what I mean without me telling you. That’s the point.”
Then, softer, almost a whisper: “Here. It means here. You know…right here with me. Not anywhere else.”
Y/n froze, heart catching. That one phrase, simple, ridiculous, ordinary, except that it wasn’t.
Jason gasped as the memory snapped apart.
Pain rushed back, his eye burning, wrists screaming, shoulders shaking. His breath came out ragged, chest heaving.
“Shit,” he whispered hoarsely.
His fingers twitched again.
Tap.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
“No,” he breathed. “No, no-”
But the memory had unlocked something his brain couldn’t ignore now.
The smell.
Oil. Rust. Old grease.
Auto grease.
Jason’s breath stuttered.
The echo, wrong before, suddenly made sense. The shape of the space. The way the sound bounced. The height of the ceiling. The chains bolted into reinforced steel beams.
His good eye widened. “Holy shit,” he murmured.
He dragged his toes weakly against the floor, feeling it clearly now, the uneven concrete. The familiar slope.
The autoshop. Abandoned now.
The one they used to steal from. The one they sold the same scraps out of back to. The one they’d hidden on the roof of, laughing and whispering. The place where they made up their own morse code, that nobody else would understand, just them.
Jason swallowed hard, throat burning.
Here.
Not metaphorical.
Not symbolic.
Here.
His fingers trembled again, small, but now his mind understood what his body was trying to say.
The autoshop hadn’t changed much in years, not really. Gotham forgot places like this slowly. They rotted, sank inward. Collected dust and ghosts. He could picture it now without trying, the exposed beams, the old hoist they never trusted, the cracked concrete floor with the shallow dip near the drain. The place where Y/n once slipped and swore that if he told anyone she would kill him.
A faint, painful smile tugged at his mouth.
Here, his brain echoed again.
Jason dragged in a slow breath though his nose, forcing himself to calm down. Panic would get him nowhere. Panic would make him loud. Sloppy.
And loud got you killed.
He tested his weight carefully, shifting just enough to ease the strain on his shoulders without making the chains rattle too much.
Tap.
He froze.
Idiot.
The sound echoed too much in his head, even if the room itself swallowed it. He stilled himself immediately, heart pounding.
“No more accidents,” he whispered to himself.
He needed control.
The Joker didn’t know he’d figured it out.
That mattered. That was leverage, thin and fragile leverage, but it was something.
Jason swallowed, jaw tightening.
Y/n, he thought fiercely. If anyone would catch it, it’s you.
She’d always noticed the small things. The things people missed. The way his hands moved when he was thinking. The rhythm he fell into when he was hurt, when he was nervous, when he was trying not to say something out loud.
And their code wasn’t neat. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t something you could write down and decode with a chart.
It lived in timing. In intent. In context.
Which meant it was useless unless you knew him.
Unless someone knew them.
He practiced it in his head first.
Not the pain. That part was unavoidable. No, he practiced control.
One movement looks like a spasm.
Two looks like weakness.
A pause looks like him trying not to pass out.
His hands shook no matter what he did. He stopped fighting it. Let the tremor exist. Learned its rhythm. Learned how much force it took to make metal whisper without screaming.
You only get one chance, he told himself. They have to see it.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Jason let his head drop immediately, chin slumping to his chest as he sagged into the chains. He loosened every muscle on purpose, shoulders dropping, knees bending just enough that his toes dragged softly against the floor.
Breathing shallow. Uneven.
The door creaked open. Light flooded in, harsh and white, stabbing through his closed eyelids. He kept them shut anyway, lashes pressed together hard, especially on the swollen side. He felt the room change with Joker’s presence. The air itself seemed to lean closer.
“Aww,” Joker sang. “Looks like somebody missed his beauty sleep.”
Jason didn’t react.
He felt Joker circle him once more, like a predator hunting his prey. Fingers snapped near his ear. A low chuckle.
Suddenly Jason hears a low hum, he looks up slightly.
A camera.
Its motor whined softly, louder than the chains. Jason felt it before he saw it, the shift in the atmosphere, the way Joker straightened, posture changing from tormentor to performer.
Joker stepped into frame.
Jason kept his head down, hair hanging into his face. He counted his breaths.
Three in. Two out. Don’t pass out.
“Well,well,well,” Joker drawled, voice syrup-thick and delighted, pitched perfectly for the lens. “Looks like the family’s all tuned in! I do love a reunion show.”
Jason’s jaw tightened.
They’re watching.
Behind Joker, chains creaked. Jason felt the vibration travel up his arms, through his shoulders, into his skull. He forced himself not to react, not to lift his head yet.
Joker clapped his hands once.
The sound cracked sharp enough to make Jason flinch despite himself, a reflex he cursed immediately. The audio would spike there, Barbara would notice that later. Joker always loved distortion.
“I know, I know,” Joker continued brightly, pacing just out of Jason’s peripheral vision. “You’re all worried sick about our mutual friend. So I thought I’d share the fun.”
Footsteps. Slow. Intentional.
Jason’s pulse hammered harder as Joker moved towards him,. The camera followed.
The lens dipped.
Focused.
His feet.
Bare.
Bruised, scraped raw, toes curling involuntarily against the cold concrete as his weight shifted. Blood smeared along the floor beneath them, footprints half-formed where he’d dragged himself back upright again and again.
Joker lingered there. Letting it sink in.
Then the camera began to rise.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Cruel.
Jason let his head hang heavy as the lens climbed, breath shallow, chest barely moving. Every bruise under his skin burned like a separate brand. One eye throbbed, half-swollen shut, the other glossy and unfocused. Blood dried dark along his hairline and mouth.
The camera reached his face.
“Don’t be shy, Jason!” Joker cooed, fingers tangling in his hair as he yanked his head up. Pain flared sharp and blinding, stars bursting behind his eyes as the lens locked onto his face. “Smile for the family.”
Jason coughed, harsh and wet, blood flecking his lips. He forced his head to stay up, forced himself to meet the camera head-on. Not Joker.
The lens.
She’s watching.
Don’t…” His voice came out raw, but steady enough to carry. “Don’t come for me.”
As the words left his mouth, his right hand jerked against the chain.
Tap-tap.
It looked like a tremor. Like pain.
“He wants you,” Jason rasped, swallowing thickly. “Not me.”
Pause.
The silence between movements stretched just long enough to matter.
His fingers struck again.
Tap.
A spasm rolled through his shoulders. His toes curled against the concrete, bare skin scraping as his knees threatened to give out. Joker barely noticed, too busy watching Jason’s face for fear, for begging.
His fingers moved again.
Tap-tap.
The chain rattles softly. Natural. Accidental.
“Don’t-” he tried. Joker yanked his hair tighter, cutting him off with a theatrical sigh. “Oh, don’t be dramatic, sunshine. You’ll ruin the surprise.”
Jason's fingers tapped one last time.
Tap.
He let his head lol forward as the Joker released him, letting his body sag, hands shaking violently now. He didn’t repeat the pattern. Couldn’t risk it.
One signal.
That was all he had.
“Oh, Batsy,” Joker purred, turning the camera back toward him. “You’re probably wondering what the rules are this time."
Jason focused on staying upright, slipping slightly in his own blood as Joker monologued. His vision tunneled, edges darkening.
"Simple!" Joker chirped. “You’ve got until sunrise.”
Jason counted heartbeats. Held onto consciousness with his teeth.
“After that,” Joker leaned close enough that the lens caught the cracks in his makeup, “let’s just say history repeats.”
“Don’t be late this time.”
The camera cut.
Darkness swallowed the room. Jason hung there, replaying the last minutes in his mind.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
He replayed it in his head over and over, clinging to the thought like a lifeline.
You know this, he thought fiercely, you always know.
Until sunrise.
The words landed heavier than any blow.
Jason didn’t react right away. He couldn’t afford to. His body wanted to, wanted to tense, to jerk, to give something away but he forced it down, locked it behind his teeth and bone.
Sunrise,
Not a day. Not a night.
An hour or two. Maybe three. Not enough time. Not enough time for a city-wide search. Not enough time for careful planning. Joker knew that. He always did.
Jason’s jaw clenched.
You don’t have that time, his mind supplied coldly. Neither do they.
That was the point. It wasn’t about killing him. It never was, he was bait, he made that clear from the beginning. It was about forcing a choice. Making Bruce run blind. Making Y/n run straight into a trap with her heart leading instead of her head.
Jason’s fingers curled weakly around the chain as the realization settles heavy in his chest.
Don’t come for me, he’d said.
Not because he wanted to die.
Because he didn’t want them broken again.
Joker hummed cheerfully, clearly pleased with himself, circling just out of Jason’s blurred field of vision. “Tick-tock, tick-tock,” he sing-songed. “Time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it, Jason?”
Jason’s jaw clenched. He tasted copper.
Hold it together. You’ve had worse.
Hadn’t he?
Footsteps sloshed.
Jason’s head lifted slightly, vision blurring as something cold splashed over his face and chest.
Water.
Ice-cold.
He gasped despite himself, body jerking violently as it soaked into his clothes, ran down his arms, pooled around his feet. The concrete sucked the heat straight out of him, cold biting deep into his bones.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Joker hummed. “I just thought you might need a freshen up!”
Jason sucked in a sharp breath, teeth chattering now, muscles betraying him. His heart hammered too fast, too loud, every nerve suddenly screaming.
Joker’s shadow fell over him again.
“Now,” he said lightly, almost conversational. “Let’s see if you’re still feeling…electric.”
The first jolt hit like a truck.
Jason’s back arched, a raw, broken sound ripping from his throat before he could stop it. Every muscle seized at once, limbs locking as pain tore through him, sharp and blinding and everywhere all at once.
He couldn’t breathe.
The world collapsed into light and noise.
The second shock came faster, crueler.
His vision fractured, spots bursting across his eyes as his teeth slammed together hard enough to make his skull ring. His wrists burned where the chains bit in, nerves firing wildly as his body fought a battle it couldn’t win.
Don’t black out.
Don’t!
He tried to focus, on Y/n’s laugh, on grease-stained hands and warm summer nights and tapping codes into rusted railings but the pain drowned it all out, relentless and merciless.
Joker laughed, manicly. “Still with me, Jason? You’re quieter than usual.”
The third shock was shorter.
Almost merciful.
Jason’s body went slack as soon as it ended, strength draining out of him all at once. His head fell forward, chin hitting his chest, breath coming in thin, ragged gasps.
He didn’t feel his feet anymore.
Didn’t feel anything but the echo of pain and the terrifying pull of darkness closing in around the edges of his vision.
Stay awake, he begged himself weakly. Just…stay…
Another splash of cold water hit his face, but it barely registered this time.
The world tilted.
Then it slipped.
Jason’s eyes rolled back as his knees finally gave out, body sagging hard against the restraints as unconsciousness took him.
The last thing he heard was Joker’s voice, amused and distant, dripping with sinister care.
“Let’s get you in a more comfortable position, shall we?”
And then there was nothing
++++
The vents shouldn’t have been this cold.
That was Y/n’s first thought as she slid on her stomach through the narrow metal shaft, elbows pulling her forward inch by careful inch. Gotham nights had a bite, sure, but the Wayne Manor ventilation systems felt like it was breathing winter straight through into her bones. Every exhale puffed white in front of her, clouding the narrow space
“Jason is gonna eat his words,” she muttered under her breath.
A screw scraped against her ribs as she moved. She hissed through her teeth and paused, letting the echo settle. Sound traveled in metal like gossip. One clatter too loud and…
Well. Worst case? Bruce Wayne personally throws her off the property.
She smirked, wouldn't be the first billionaire she annoyed.
A faint vibration hummed through the metal beneath her. Not the vent system’s usual rhythm, this was hers. The device strapped to her wrist blinked a pulsing green, looping a falsified feed into the manor’s security network. She’d spent two long weeks and countless curses creating it, for the scrap electronics she could find.
Worth it.
Jason had said, You’re not getting into the manor. Even I can’t without setting off five alarms.
And Y/n had heard what he meant:
Try me.
She never backed down from a challenge, especially one Jason smirked his way through. She followed the vent’s downward slope, carefully lowering herself. Soft light glowed below. And then..
A low thump.
A grunt.
Fists against heavy padding.
Training room.
She was close.
Y/n stopped just before the vent’s final grate, pulling her screwdriver from her boot. She’d studied this grate on the stolen blueprint, only to discover extra screws not listed anywhere.
Someone had upgraded security recently.
She smirked. Cute. Still not enough.
She began unscrewing the grate one bolt at a time, catching them in her palm to keep the noise down. Metal clinked faintly.
And suddenly her wrist device beeped.
Once.
Twice.
A sharp triple tone.
Her stomach dropped.
Motion sensors. East wing. Triggered.
“What? No, no, no” she whispered, tapping the screen.
The override she’d designed looped camera feeds and obscured heat signatures, but the East wing’s sensors must’ve been recently reinstalled. They weren’t connected to the central system yet, meaning her loop didn’t cover them.
Great.
Just great.
Somewhere below, muted footsteps shifted.
“Did you hear that?” a voice murmured. A voice she assumed to be Dick, Jason had talked about him a few times. The golden boy.
Y/n froze, her breath caught in her throat.
Another voice, deep, steady, unmistakable.
Bruce.
“East wing,” Bruce said quietly. “Motion detected.”
A beat.
Then, with the heavy exhaustion of a man too old for this, another voice crackled faintly through a comm line, dry, clipped, thoroughly unimpressed.
“For heaven’s sake… again?”
Y/n clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, Alfred she assumed. Jason had told her only positive things about him.
Alfred continued, tone flat with decades of patience, worn down. “Shall I assume it is yet another ambitious individual attempting to steal Master Bruce’s antique chess set? Or a teenager convinced the manor is haunted again?”
Bruce did not not sound amused. “We’ll check it.”
“Yes,” Alfred sighed, “because that always goes splendidly.”
Y/n whispered to herself. “Sorry, Alfred.”
She didn’t have long. She eased the grate open and slipped through, hanging briefly by her fingertips before dropping onto a support beam high above the mats. The air smelled faintly of sweat, leather, and chalk. Below, Dick attacked a training dummy with a sharp, precise rhythm. Bruce stood beside him, arms folded, expression carved from stone.
Neither of them looked up.
Good.
From here, she could see the entire space, the long mats, the tumbling rigs, the polished floors. Everything neat. Controlled. Designed for discipline.
“Something feels off,” Dick muttered, suddenly striking the dummy again.
Y/n froze.
Bruce lifted his gaze upward, scanning the rafters, the corners, the shadows.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She held her breath, body pressed tight to the beam. After a moment, Bruce looked away.
Dick cracked his neck. “Thought I heard something.”
“Your focus is drifting,” Bruce said. “Again.”
Dick rolled his eyes. “Maybe because it’s midnight, and I’ve been doing this since-”
He stopped.
Y/n’s heart slamming in her ears, Y/n pressed herself flatter, barely breathing.
The grate above her, the one she’d removed at the start, rattled faintly, likely settling in the draft.
Bruce’s head snapped up.
Dick’s eyes followed.
Y/n felt her stomach drop. No point in hiding now. She dropped.
She landed in a low crouch, palms on the mat, body absorbing the impact in a clean controlled roll. Her knee screamed, but she pushed through.
Dick stumbled backwards, eyes wide.
Bruce didn’t move at all.
Y/n raised both hands, half grin tugging at her bruised lip. “Uh…hi.”
Dick blinked. "Who-?"
But the way he froze wasn’t confusion. It was recognition. A flicker, just long enough for Y/n to catch it.
Y/n squinted at him, studying the shape of his jaw, the stance, the way he held tension in his shoulders. Familiar. Stupid familiar. Her brain scrambled through every person who’d ever cornered her in an alley. Every vigilante who’d ever cut her off mid-crime.
Then it hit.
“Oh,” she said slowly, pointing right at him. “You’re Nightwing.”
Dick’s reaction was instant and violently unconvincing.
“I..What…No.” His voice cracked so hard it echoed. “Why would you… why would you think… what…no…I’m not…that’s not.”
Y/n raised a brow. “Dude…you’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?!” he demanded, voice pitching even higher.
Bruce, without looking up, muttered, “Your tell.”
Dick whipped around. “I do not have a tell.”
Bruce just stared at him with the dead-eyed disappointment of a man who has absolutely had this argument before.
Y/n crossed her arms. “You fight the same.”
Dick’s eyes snapped back to her, wide and betrayed. “Fight? What do you mean? No. No. You’re mistaken. I move like a civilian. A completely normal, stable, unremarkable, tax-paxing civilian.
“That couldn't be further from the truth. Especially the stable part, anyone that chooses the vigilante life, is not stable.” Y/n quickly shot back, slightly tilting her head.
Bruce stared at him. “You don’t pay taxes either.”
“Not helping, Bruce!”
Y/n ignored their bickering, pointing straight at Dick. “The night near Bristol,” she said. “The townhouse with the stupid expensive wallpaper.”
Dick went still.
“You were wearing black with a blue symbol,” she continued. “and you flipped my knife like it was a fidget toy.”
Dick sucked in a breath so fast he choked on it.
Bruce’s head tilted with mild interest.
“That wasn’t-” Dick tried, voice strained. “That could have been…anyone.”
“Anyone with escrima sticks who steps out in the shadows like he’s posing for a magazine cover?” Y/n deadpanned.
Dick made a wounded noise. “I do NOT pose.”
Bruce mumbled, under his breath, “You pose.”
“I don’t!”
Y/n kept going. “You cornered me in the study, remember? I was unlocking that wall safe and you said-” her voice slipped into an exaggerated impression, “breaking and entering is a felony, you know.”
Dick paled.
“And then you followed me for half an hour through the rain,” she said, “ talking about Gotham’s moral decay and that I could make better life choices.”
Dick threw his hands up. “It was a conversation, not a lecture.”
“You were annoying,” she added
Dick huffed, the ghost of a laugh slipping through. “You threw a knife at my head.”
“You startled me.”
“You were robbing a house.
“Well,” she said, shrugging lightly, “we all have our hobbies.”
Bruce almost looked like he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose.
Dick cleared his throat. “Still, you shouldn’t assume things.”
“It wasn’t an assumption.”
His brows pulled together. “Oh?”
Bruce’s gaze flickered between them. “She’s observant. Very.”
Y/n shrugged. “I survive by watching people.”
Dick scrubbed a hand through his hair, completely undone. “Okay, hypothetically, hypothetically, if I were Nightwing, which I’m obviously not, how the hell would you recognize me? I wore a mask.”
“You stand the same,” she said simply. “And you tilt your head when you’re studying someone. Same as now.”
Dick froze like a glitch in a video game.
Bruce nodded once, impressed. “Good deduction.”
Dick turned, betrayed. “Could you stop praising her for exposing me?!”
Y/n bit back a laugh. “You should work on your poker face.”
“I’ve an excellent poker face.”
“You’re literally pouting.”
“I am not!”
Bruce’s voice cut through, low and sharp. “Y/n.”
Her smirk faltered. “You… know my face.”
“Jason told me enough.”
Okay. She was going to murder Jason later.
Dick’s eyebrows shot up, a sarcastic smile appeared on his face. “Jason knows girls?”
“I know, right? Such a shocker.” Y/n shot back instinctively.
Bruce’s nostrils flared. “How did you get in here?”
“Oh, you know…” She gestured vaguely upward. “Air ducts. Determination. Mild disregard for property laws.”
Dick looked impressed. “You broke into the Wayne Manor through the vents?”
“And got past the security system,” she corrected proudly.
Bruce’s brow dipped “Impossible. I upgraded that system myself.”
“Yeah,” she said, tapping the device on her wrist. “You should really look into patching the backdoor I found in your north camera network. That thing was an open invitation.”
Dick let out a low whistle. “She’s bold.” Y/n just smirked at him. “You’ve no idea.”
Bruce exhaled slowly, long suffering. “Why are you here?”
She straightened, brushing dust off her pants. “Jason said I couldn’t.”
Dick snorted.
Bruce closed his eyes like he was reconsidering every choice he’d ever made.
Y/n shrugged. “I like proving people wrong.” Dick grinned, stepping forward. “I like her.”
Before Y/n could reply, footsteps thundered down the hall.
Jason burst into the room, slightly out of breath, expression pure horror.
“YOU DIDN’T.”
Y/n smiled.
Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I said the manor was impossible, not that you should-”
“You dared me,” she corrected. “And now you owe me twenty bucks.”
Dick choked on a laugh. Bruce rubbed his temples. Jason pointed to the vents. “You could’ve died!”
She pointed back at the training equipment. “You train here with Bruce. I think I’ll survive.” Y/n said, turning herself to Bruce. “ Sorry, I know. Dumbass here, let it slip that you’re Batman.”
Jason looked like he wanted to dropkick her. Or hug her. Or both.
Instead he shot her a smile. Glad that she got inside safely. Glad that she hasn’t changed a bit, even after not seeing her as often as he would like.
She remembered that smile. God, she remembered it too well. The one that made everything in her stop for a heartbeat.
Warm.
Bright.
Stupidly soft around the edges in a way he didn’t give anyone else. The kind of smile that made her think. just for a second, that things could actually be okay.
And for a moment, the memory held. Whole. Untouched.
The training room still smells faintly of sweat and cologne. Bruce’s quiet disapproval hovered somewhere behind her.
Dick’s laugh bounced off the walls, amused and surprised.
It felt real.
But it never lasted long when Jason was involved.
The moment stretched, too still, too perfect, and something inside her flinched before she even understood why.
The edges of the room blurred first.
Not dramatically, just enough that her brain recognized the pattern before she consciously did.
Because this wasn’t new.
This shift, this slip, this tilting of a memory into something else, it had happened before. Her stomach dropped. Her heartbeat stuttered. Jason’s smile flickered.
Barely.
That was all it took. Her mind filled in the rest, uninvited and merciless. The warmth drained out of the room. The light changed. Colder, harsher. Dick’s laugh vanished. Bruce’s presence dissolved into static.
And Jason.
Jason changed the slowest, which somehow made it worse.The softness around his eyes sharpened. Color bled out of his skin. The curve of his lips collapsed.
She blinked, and the past folded violently into the other past, the one that never stopped replaying whether she wanted it or not.
Blood smeared along his cheek.
His eyes wide with panic.
Breath shaking, too fast, too thin.
The Joker’s video.
The first time she watched him die.
…And the second time.
Because the universe apparently liked patterns.
She’d known this feeling before. The sick, hollow drop in her chest, the sense of falling without moving. The night she’d seen the footage. The night she’d found out he came back. The night she realized he hadn’t really survived at all, not in the ways that mattered.
This, right here, was the second time she lost him.
Her memory of his smile didn’t just fade, no, it shattered under the weight of the image replacing it.
Jason hanging chained from the ceiling
Terrified.
Hurting.
Helpless in a way she had never, ever been able to forgive. And that was the thing that always gutted her. It wasn’t the shock. It wasn’t the horror.It was the familiarity. She’d seen that expression before.
She’d survived it once.
And now, watching the video’s ghost swallow the memory whole, she felt it happen again.
The warmth was gone. The boy she knew was gone.
And all she could see, all she could feel, was that broken, desperate face. The face of someone she couldn’t save the first time.
A quiet truth settled in her bones, cold and absolute:
I’m losing him again.
The world didn’t return gently. It slammed back into motion all at once.
The Batcave lights weren’t as harsh as they felt, Y/n knew that, but her pupils constricted painfully anyway, dragging her out of the collapsing memory like she was being yanked out of an icy lake. Her breath caught hard in her chest, sharp and loud, echoing in her own ears until she forced herself to slow it down. In. Out. Again.
The real room came back in pieces.
Barbara’s fingers flying across the keyboard, the soft clacking unnervingly fast. Bruce pacing a tight line behind the main console, shoulders rigid, jaw set like brittle under pressure. Dick murmuring low into a comm, voice steady but clipped tone of someone who hasn't slept and wouldn't any time soon". Tim and Damian’s voices crackling faintly over the speakers, distant but sharp.
Alfred moved quietly between them all with quiet efficiency, offering water no one drank.
And behind it all, constant, inescapable.
The freeze-frame of Jason.
Bound. Bruised. Barely breathing.
Y/n swallowed hard, her throat tight enough that it hurt. For a few seconds she didn’t move at all, afraid that if she did, something in her would come undone in a way she couldn't fix.
Her body felt wrong, too heavy in some places, strangely hollow in others, like part of her had been left behind in her memory.
She forced herself to move anyway. One foot for the other.
She drifted toward the console with a numb, mechanical focus that made Dick glance over almost immediately. He didn’t call out at first. He just watched her, reading the way her shoulders were held too tight, the way her hands curled and uncurled at her sides like she didn’t trust them.
“Y/n?” he called quietly, sensing the shift.
She didn’t answer.
Not because she didn’t hear him, because her throat had closed around words that didn’t exist yet. Thoughts swarmed, overlapping and useless. If she spoke now, she was certain something broken would come out instead.
She stopped beside the console and stared at the screen. Jason’s head lolled forward, chin brushing his chest. One eye was swollen nearly shut. The other stared unfocused at nothing.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. They trembled once, just once, before she clenched them into a fist and forced the shake down through sheer will.
Bruce noticed. Of course he noticed.
He took a half-step toward her, stopped himself. His hands flexed at his sides before curling into fists again. He said nothing. His grief had made him careful around her, like he understood that even comfort could be a trigger right now.
Good. She didn’t want comfort. She wanted clarity.
“Barbara,” Y/n said, her voice hoarse. “Restart the broadcast.”
Barbara’s hands paused over the keys. She looked up, concern flashing across her face.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to watch it again. We already-”
“Just do it,” Y/n said, sharper than she meant to.
Dick shot her a worried look, but nodded to Barbara. “Run it. Slow it down if she asks.” Barbara tapped a few keys. The screen shifted. Static.
Joker’s laugh, distorted.
His pale face filled the lens.
And behind him.
Jason..
The world shrank to the image of him chained from the ceiling, every breath a struggle, every bruise a fresh injury that twisted her insides. His movements were so minimal it hurt to watch. Jason wasn’t still by nature, stillness meant agony.
Y/n dug nails into her palms but didn’t look away. Couldn’t. Her eyes traced every pixel. Every flicker of shadow, every breath that rattled in Jason’s chest. She knew this was the same footage they’d already seen. She knew studying it again wouldn’t reverse time.
Bruce stepped closer, arms crossed but face softer than usual. “What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
Then louder, “Play it at point-five speed.”
Barbara slowed it down. Joker’s motions stretched unnaturally, his laughter crawling through the speakers like something rotten. Jason’s head hung forward, until Joker grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked it up.
Y/n’s heart slammed against her ribs. She forced herself not to break, not to focus on the bruises or the blood in the white stripe of his hair or the way Jason’s legs twitched involuntarily.
Instead, she watched Jason.
Not the pain, not the injuries, but the tiny things.
The things only someone who’d known him as a kid, as a reckless teenager, as the boy who always mouthed off even when he shouldn’t, would notice.
She looked at his hands. By the way the chains had rubbed the skin of his wrists raw. At the way his right fingers tapped against the chain.
Then did it again.
Barely anything. But unmistakably deliberate.
Her pulse jumped.
“Pause it.
Barbara froze the frame. Dick leaned in, brows furrowed. "What? Did you see something?”
Y/n lifted a trembling hand toward the screen. “There. His hand. He’s tapping.”
Bruce’s head snapped toward the screen. “You’re certain?”
“He’s tapping a pattern,” she said. “He used to do that. When he wanted to tell me something without anyone else catching on.” Dick blinked. “What, like Morse code?”
“No,” Y/n said. “Like… Jason code.” Barbara zoomed in, grainy, but clear enough to see the minute jerks of Jason’s fingers.
Tap.
Pause.
Tap-tap.
Long pause.
Tap.
Her stomach dropped. “He’s spelling something,” she whispered. “But…it’s too fast. And he’s weak. The letters are muddled.” Dick’s jaw clenched. “But he’s trying.”
“He always tries,” Y/n whispered back.
Hours blurred.
The cave thrummered with coordinated urgency. Bruce stalked between computer stations. Dick deployed drones through half of the city. Tim and Damian swept rooftops on the opposite side of Gotham. Barbara sifted archives, city grids, old hideouts.
And Y/n watched.
The video. Over. And over. And over again.
Her eyes burned. Her head throbbed. Her chest felt carved out.
Dick came up behind her at some point. “You keep this up and you’re going to pass out.”
“I can’t stop,” she muttered. “We don’t have that time and neither does he.”
“Y/n,” he said softly, “why are you torturing yourself?”
“Because he’s talking to me.”
Dick froze.
“He wouldn’t tap unless it meant something,” she said, voice shaking. “He never tapped wrong. He never did it by accident.”
Barbara and Bruce exchanged a glance, one part uncertainty, one part dawning consideration. “So,” Dick said carefully, “this is your…code?”
“Yes,” Y/n whispered. “Ours.”
She hadn’t thought about that night in years.
Not clearly.
Not like this.
But exhaustion had a way of loosening memories and right now they slipped free like dust shaken off old shelves.
The memory dissolved like smoke.
Y/n blinked hard, the dim orange rooftop fading into the cold blue glow of the Batcave. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she stared at Jason’s barely-moving hand on the frozen screen.
Barbara slowly rewound the frame and played it again, frame for frame, each twitch magnified. Y/n leaned forward until her breath fogged the edge of the monitor.
“He’s trying to stay with the code,” she murmured, “but he’s too weak to keep the rhythm clean.”
Dick hovered behind her shoulder. “Meaning…what exactly?”
“It means that I need to figure out what he’s trying to do, not what he’s actually managing.”
She pressed a hand to her forehead. It was overheating. Or maybe she was. Her pulse thrummed with something between hope and dread.
“Look here.” She pointed. “That first tap? It could be single. Or it could be the first part of a double tap that he couldn’t finish.”
Bruce stepped closer, silent, watching every mirco-movement on the screen.
“And the pause?” Dick asked. Y/n shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s deliberate or if he’s…passing out for half a second between taps.”
Barbara frowned. “So we don’t even know how many taps he intended.”
“Exactly,” Y/n whispered. “He could be saying ‘left’. Or ‘right’
Her voice cracked. “Or he’s trying to say all of them but can’t get his body to cooperate.
It was hell. Watching him give everything he had left just to move a few fingers. Y/n leaned closer, studying the tremors in his hand, the tension in his tendons, the rhythm, broken but familiar.
“He’s not following the pattern exactly,” she murmured. “He’s modifying it.” Bruce titled his head. “Modifying how?”
“Back then,” she said slowly, “our code relied on clean beats. Clean pauses. That’s impossible for him right now. So he’s compensating.”
She swallowed hard.
Dick exhaled shakily. “Can you read it?” Y/n’s eyes stung. “I’m trying.”
Her gaze dragged across the screen again. Tap. Pause. Tap-tap. Long pause. Tap
“He’s mixing signals,” she whispered. “Not random, just messy. Like he’s trying to say three or four things at once, hoping one of them lands.”
“And what do you think he’s trying to say?” Barbara asked gently.
Y/n’s throat worked.
“I don’t know what he’s saying yet,” she admitted, “but I know what he’s trying to do.”
She pressed her fingertips lightly against the glass, tracing the tremor of his fingers.
“He’s talking to me,” she whispered. “Even now. Even like this.” She exhaled.
“Now I just need to figure out how many taps there really were. If that first one was single or double. If that pause was meant or if he blacked out. If the last tap is full stop or the start of another sequence he couldn’t finish.”
Her fingers curled against the console.
“He’s trying to tell me something. A place. A warning. A direction. Something.”
Y/n swallowed hard, eyes glued to Jason’s trembling hand.
“I just need to know what.”
She rewound.
Play.
Rewind.
Play.
Her eyes narrowed.
“One tap…or two.”
“Fast…or staggered.”
“A pause…or a slip.”
Her breath shuddered. Y/n stared at the screen, her vision narrowing until the edges of the Batcave disappeared. The only thing that existed was Jason’s hand, struggling, twitching, the faintest flex of fingers against the chains.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
The sequence repeated, each tap like a lifeline thrown across the void between her and him. She played it over and over, frame by frame, adjusting the speed until the movements were almost imperceptible, ghost like.
Her mind reached, grasped at the fragments, and tried to assemble them.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
It wasn’t perfect. His wrist trembled. His fingers shook with fatigue. The timing staggered slightly. But it was deliberate. Every twitch was intentional, every pause had meaning.
Y/n’s nails dug into her palms as she repeated the sequence out loud, whispering the taps, whispering the rhythm, trying to match it. Then it felt like a rope was strapped around her neck and yanked her back into her mind.
He tapped a short sequence. Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
Y/n’s leaned against the railing, sweating under the summer heat, listening to the city beneath them.
“Okay,” she said softly, eyes narrowing, fingers itching to tap back. “That could mean anything.”
Jason shrugged, half-grinning, half-serious. “Maybe. Maybe not. But someday, you’ll get it. You’ll know exactly what I mean without me telling you. That’s the point.”
She laughed quietly, a little sharp, a little nervous. “That’s cryptic, even for you.”
He leaned closer, voice low, almost a whisper. “Here. It means here. You know…right here with me. Not anywhere else.”
Y/n froze, heart catching in her chest. That one phrase. Simple, ridiculous, ordinary. And yet it was anything but ordinary.
“Right here,” she whispered under her breath, tracing the imaginary motion of his fingers in the air. “He meant right here with me.”
Her mind tumbled through possibilities. Places. Rooftops. Alleys. Anywhere they had been together. Anywhere that mattered. Anywhere he might want to anchor her to, even in a moment of terror like this.
She shook her head slightly, still fixated on the screen. Tap-tap. Pause. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. The rhythm was alive, insistent. Personal.
Barbara’s voice cut softly through the tension. “Y/n, what do you think he meant with here?”
Y/n didn’t look up. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I…I don’t know. Not entirely.” She swallowed, trying to calm the tremor in her chest, her sides starting to ache more and more. “But I’m convinced that’s what he meant. He’s trying to tell me something. Something only I would understand.”
Dick leaned closer, brushing her shoulder lightly. “So, any of ‘here’ would work? Like, any place that matters to both of you?”
Y/n shook her head slowly, but with certainty. “Yes and no. Some places matter more than others. Not all of them. He picked this one carefully. He wouldn't just tap it for anywhere.”
Bruce’s hands pressed into his face for a moment before he looked back up. “Then we need a list. Every place significant to the two of you. Every location that could possibly be…” He didn’t finish, but the implication was clear.
Barbara pulled up a city map on one of the secondary screens. She marked rooftops, alleys, abandoned warehouses, a few hideouts that had been Jason’s unofficial haunts over the years.
Time didn’t stop.
That was the cruelest part.
It kept moving, indifferent, sliding forward in quiet increments while they tore the city apart.
Minutes bled away in the Batcave, marked only by the steady appearance of red X’s and yellow flags blooming across Gotham’s map. Each one represented a location checked. Each one meant nothing.
Y/n stood rooted near the main console, shoulders tight, arms crossed over her chest, eyes burning from staring too long at too many screens. She could feel the dull ache in her ribs, sharp reminders every time she shifted her weight. Her shoulder throbbed faintly under the strain of holding herself upright, and the small cut along her cheek started itching as it dried and cracked. Every step, every lean, every movement reminded her she was broken.
She ignored it. She had to. It didn’t matter. Not right now. Not while Jason was alive, or trying to be.
The cave hummed around her, servers, monitors, distant machinery, a low, relentless pulse that made it impossible to forget that time was still passing.
Outside, somewhere far above them, the sky was changing.
It was subtle. Almost imperceptible. But Y/n felt it anyway, that quiet pressure shift in the air that came before dawn. The night was thinning.
Sunrise was coming.
Tim’s voice crackled through the comms, sharp and strained. “Warehouse district cleared. Nothing. No residual power strikes. No structural matches.”
“South docks are clean,” Dick reported seconds later, voice controlled but tight around the edges. “Too open. No enclosed ceiling supports strong enough for that chain rig.”
Damian cut in, irritation barely masking the worry underneath. “Abandoned subway spur is a dead end. No signs of recent activity.”
One by one, hope collapsed in on itself.
Y/n shifted slightly, ignoring the sharp stabs through her ribs. Her shoulder caught on the console’s edge, a flare of pain shooting down her arm, but she gritted her teeth and pressed forward. She couldn’t let anyone see how much it hurt.
Bruce stood behind the main console, hands braced against the metal edge, shoulders squared in a way Y/n recognized all too well. It wasn’t readiness. It was restraint. The kind that came from knowing exactly how much force you could unleash, and knowing that using it blindly would cost you everything.
Barbara’s fingers never stopped moving. She rerouted feeds, overlaid city schematics, pulled up old infrastructure reports. Her jaw was set, lips pressed thin, eyes flicking between data streams faster than most people could read.
“Nothing fits cleanly," she said quietly. “Joker’s hiding somewhere old. Somewhere forgotten.”
Forgotten.
Y/n swallowed hard, the movement twisted her ribs in protest. She pressed a hand to her side, holding herself still. She couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe in her panic. Not yet.
Her gaze drifted back to the paused footage on the central screen. Not Jason’s face, she couldn’t look at that again. Not right now. Instead, her eyes slid downward.
That dirty, concrete floor.
Her breath caught so sharply it hurt. The ache in her shoulders flared. She clenched her fist to hold it down.
Something about the floor tugged at her, insistent and wrong. Not the blood, Gotham had taught her that blood alone didn’t narrow anything down. It was the texture. The way the light caught unevenly across the surface. The shallow dip near where his toes scraped. The patchiness along one section that someone had obviously tried to hide.
“Barbara,” she said, voice sharp, though shaking from exhaustion and pain. “Zoom in. On the floor. Brighten it. Enhance texture.”
Barbara didn’t question it.
The image sharpened, pixels rearranging themselves into something clearer, harsher.
Cracks spiderwebbed through the concrete. Dark stains ground deep into the surface, old and layered, not fresh enough to belong to the moment alone. Rust flakes scattered unevenly, some pressed flat, others jagged and curled.
Then Y/n saw it.
A thin, raised seam, jagged and imperfect, running diagonally across the concrete like a scar.
They had tried to cover it. Someone, in a last attempt had poured fresh concrete over an old drain, to hide the floor’s true identity. Too thin in places. The surface mismatched slightly in color and texture. It wasn’t enough to fool anyone careful, anyone who knew the space intimately.
Y/n leaned closer, ignoring the stabbing pain in her ribs as she bent over the console. Her shoulder jabbed again. Her cheek stung. Her body protested in every way. But she didn’t care. Her eyes traced the seam, the slight offset in the patch. Recognition slammed into her.
“This floor,” she breathed. “They tried to cover the drain. Look at the seams, see how uneven it is? It’s intentional.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “‘Industrial.”
“Small,” she said. “Not a warehouse. Not a factory. Too low. Too cramped.”
Dick leaned in, following her line of sight. “Auto shop.”
Her breath shuddered.
“Yes.”
Memory flooded in whether she wanted it to or not, fragments layered over the present. That uneven drain, she tripped over and swore she would kill Jason if he told anyone. Jason’s laugh echoing off the metal walls. Grease-stained hands tapping against a rusted railing.
Tap-tap.
Pause.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Tap.
Her voice dropped, rough with emotion. “He didn’t just want me to understand him. He wanted me to remember.”
Bruce straightened, something fierce and careful burning behind his eyes. “Where?”
“The abandoned auto shop on 9th,” Y/n said. “The one near the junkyard. Where we used to strip parts. Where he first taught me the taps.” Her throat worked. Her ribs burned with every swallow. “That’s where this started.”
Silence fell for half a second.
Then Bruce moved.
“Oracle,” he said sharply. “Cross-refrence abandoned auto shops within the industrial sector. Structural match priority. Ceiling beams capable of bearing weight.”
Barbara was already typing, screen shifting. “On it.”
Dick exhaled slowly, something sharp and hopeful cutting through the exhaustion. “He didn’t just want to calm us down,” he said. "He trusted you with his life.”
Y/n nodded, slightly taken back by the words Dick just spoke. He did trust her with his life and she owes him to keep him safe. He knew she’d look for him. And he knew she’d know the difference.
Outside, dawn crept closer.
But for the first time since the broadcast began, here finally meant something they could run toward.
Jason woke up to the wrong kind of touch.
Not hands.
Not warmth.
Something cold and familiar dragging along his cheek.
His breath stutters before he could even open his eyes. His body reacted faster than his mind, muscles tried to tense, to pull away, and immediately. Pain.
It crashed through him like a wave breaking against rocks. His spine locked. His shoulders screamed. His ribs flared hot and sharp, like something inside them shifted the wrong way. A sound rips out of his throat, rough and broken before he could stop it.
He gasped and his eyes flew open.
Green.
That’s the first thing he saw. Sickly, too bright, hovering just inches from his face.
“Well, there he is,” Joker croons, voice lilting with false affection. “I thought you were going to sleep through the whole encore. And where is the fun in that?”
Jason’s visions swim. The room titled nauseatingly, light and shadow blurring together before slowly, painfully settling. He tried to focus on the Joker’s face, but it took effort, like his eyes don’t quite want to cooperate.
The cold thing stroked his cheek again.
Metal.
A crowbar.
Joker dragged it down the side of Jason’s face with a mocking tenderness, the rounded edge traced over swollen skin, dried blood cracking slightly with the pressure.
Jason sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. His jaw trembled, anger flaring hot and instinctive, but his body felt wrong. Heavy, sluggish. Like it’s been rearranged without his permission.
Jason tried to move.
Tried being the operative word.
His body refused.
Something dug viciously into his chest when he shifted, biting down hard enough that his breath punched out of him in a strained, broken sound. His arms don’t budge. His legs twitched uselessly, feet scraping weakly against the concrete floor underneath him.
The realization hit him in fragments, assembling themselves slowly through the haze.
He’s sitting.
Not slumped. Not hanging.
Sitting upright and it’s wrong.
His heart rate spiked. He looked down as much as he could, neck stiff and screaming in protest.
That’s when he sees it.
The chair.
Heavy and industrial. Bolted straight into the floor, metal arms and reinforced legs. The kind of thing that doesn’t tip, doesn’t slide, doesn’t move unless whoever built it wanted it to.
And wrapped around him, barbed wire.
It coiled around his torso, biting into his ribs, crossing his chest in jagged lines. It dug into his shoulders, his arms, his thighs. Every sharp twist presses barbs into skin already bruised and torn, embedding themselves just enough that any movement is punished immediately.
Jason lifted his head slowly, every motion calculated now. His breathing is shallow, careful. Each inhale pulls at his ribs in a way that makes stars spark behind his eyes.
“You know,” Joker continued, leaning casually on the crowbar, “you really ruined the chair the first time.”
Jason’s fingers twitched. The barbs bit down harder, sharp enough that he hissed despite himself.
“Very nostalgic,” Joker continued. “I thought it might jog your memory. You always did like revisiting your greatest hits.”
“Go…to hell,” Jason rasped.
Joker beams. “Already booked a return trip.”
Without warning, the crowbar swung.
It strikes Jason’s shoulder.
The pain is immediate and catastrophic. His vision whites out. A scream tears from hm before he can stop it, raw and animal, his body jerking violently as the wire digs in, tearing skin, ripping breath from his lungs.
Joker laughed, loud and pleased.
“Oh,” he said. “Did that hurt?”
Another hit followed immediately.
This one caught his ribs.
Something cracked. Jason didn’t know if it was bone or just the illusion of it, but the pain was blinding, absolute. He gagged, vision going dark at the edge as his body convulsed against restraints refusing to give in.
The barbed wire shifted.
Bit deeper.
Joker hummed thoughtfully. “You know, I debated starting slowly. Really build the anticipation. But honestly?” He shrugged. “You look like you could use a warm-up.”
The crowbar struck again.
And again.
Not rhythmic. Not predictable. Joker varied the timing just enough to keep Jason from bracing, from preparing, from controlling the pain. Shoulder. Side. Thigh. Anywhere that would hurt but not end it.
Jason’s world narrowed to impact, breath and desperate effort to not scream, he couldn't give him that joy.
He bit down hard, tasting blood.
Joker leaned in closer between blows, voice almost gentle. “They aren’t coming, you know.”
Jason spat. It barely made it past his lips.
That earned him another strike, the one snapping his head sideways. Stars burst behind his eyes, his neck screaming in protest as the chair rattled beneath him.
“Ah-ah,” Joker chided. “Bad manners.”
Jason’s breathing broke apart, ragged and uneven. His body shook uncontrollably now, adrenaline burning through him even as strength drained away. Every nerve felt betrayed. Every muscle screamed to either fight or collapse, and he couldn’t do either.
“You really should stop hoping,” Joker continued, pacing lazily now, crowbar tapping against his palm. “Hope’s such a fragile little thing. Breaks so easily.”
The crowbar slammed into his knee.
Jason screamed.
There was no stopping it this time. The sound tore out of him raw and broken as his leg jerked uselessly, wire biting deep enough that he felt it tear. His vision swam, nausea rolling hard through his gut.
Joker straightened, satisfied. “Ah, it’s like music to my ears.”
Jason sagged forward as much as the restraints allowed, breath shuddering. His head hung for a second before Joker grabbed his chin, forcing his face up.
“You remember the last time?” Joker asked softly. “How long you waited?
Jason’s eyes burned.
“I remember how quiet it got,” he said fondly. “How you kept looking at the door, like somebody would come for you.”
The crowbar pressed against his chest, right over his heart.
“They looked,” Joker said. “Oh, they looked. Ran around. Made a mess. All very dramatic.”
He leans in again, face inches from Jason’s. “And they couldn’t find you.”
Jaason’s breath hitches despite himself.
“Funny how that works,” Joker whispered. “You can scream and bleed and fight all you want, but if no one knows where to look…”
“Such a shame,” Joker whispered.
Then he hit him again.
Jason lost track of how many times after that.
Pain blurred together, each strike bleeding into the next until there was no clean beginning or end, just a constant, crushing assault that wore him down piece by piece. His body stopped trying to anticipate. Stopped trying to resist. It just absorbed.
Joker finally stepped back, breathing a little harder himself.
“Perfect,” he said cheerfully. “You’ll look amazing when the time comes.”
He glanced at the far wall, where faint light leaked through cracked boards. Morning, misschien. Or just another trick of time.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Joker added, already turning away. “I got a show to set up.”
His footsteps receded, laughter trailing behind him, leaving Jason alone with the aftermath.
The silence hurt worse than the noise.
Jason sagged in the chair, head lolling forward, body shaking with the aftershock. Every breath scraped. Every heartbeat echoed too loud in his ears. His thoughts came apart, slipping through his grasp no matter how hard he tried to hold on.
They’re not coming, a voice whispered.
His own.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Don’t.
The darkness pressed close, heavy and seductive. It would be so easy to let it take him. To stop fighting. To stop feeling
They don’t care about you.
As his mind tried to convince him that all hope is lost, he heard something it the distance.
Tap-tap.
Jason froze. Barely a sound, so faint he almost missed it.
Tap.
No. His heart pounding harder, panic spiking sharp and sudden. Hallucinations. Shock. That’s what it had to be, I finally lost it, he thought.
Tap-tap.
Tap.
His chest tightened, breath shuddering as hope crept in despite himself, fragile and terrifying. He shook his head weakly, a broken denial.
Not now. Not like this.
But the tapping came again, clearer this time.
Tap-tap.
Pause.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Tap.
Jason swallowed hard, eyes burning.
“...Y/n?” he whispered, barely sound at all.
Relief crashed into him so hard it hurt. Confusion followed close behind, fear tangling with it, because what if his mind is just itching for comfort as it unraveled?
Then once again the tapping started, like it was trying to convince him it was really there.
Steady. Unmistakable.
Their rhythm.
Not rushed. Not sloppy.
A broken laugh tears out of him, half sob, half disbelief. His eyes burn fiercely, vision blurring as emotion crashes though the numbness he’d wrapped himself in .
She’s here.
AAAH! The sweet boy.
I'm going to start uploading shorter stories between main story updates, so that you all are fed. Do you have a prompt or request? Let me know and I'll see what I can do! Let me know who, what and what genre you want it. Smut is allowed
Do you want to be on the taglist for any know updates? Let me know and you will be added 🩷
Or do you have a request or a question ? Always welcome
Or do you wanna show love or wanna beat me up for playing with your emotions? You know what button to hit 🤭😌
Merry Christmas you filthy animals, or happy holidays or happy Thursday!
Let’s take a break from all the hardships and celebrate Christmas with one of the strangest, dysfunctional familie we know.
It’s almost 4am here but I wanted to release a Christmas special! I wrote this on my phone, so excuse me if there are mistakes!
Jason Todd x female reader
master list
Word count: 2.4K
Y/n was sprawled sideways across her couch, one sock missing, phone balanced precariously on her stomach, when she did what she did every year without fail.
She opened the Batfam group chat.
The name had changed over the years to No Capes, Just Problems, but right now it was simply labeled Christmas. Barbara had changed it sometime after Thanksgiving and no one had fought her on it.
Y/n scrolled just long enough to make sure no one had already beaten her to it, then grinned and sent the gif.
Phoebe from Friends, aggressively cheerful:
“HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVE EVE!”
She didn’t even have time to lock her phone before the responses started rolling in.
Dick:
🎄🎉 FINALLY SOMEONE SAID IT 🎉🎄
I’ve been waiting ALL DAY.
Barbara:
I knew this was coming.
Also Dick, it’s 9:07 AM.
Dick:
AND YET I WAS READY.
Tim:
Statistically, “Christmas Eve Eve” is not a real holiday.
Y/n:
Statistically, neither is whatever sleep schedule you’re on.
Tim:
…fair.
A moment later:
Stephanie:
I BROUGHT COOKIES FOR TOMORROW AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME.
Damian:
Christmas is inefficient. Excessive decoration. Unnecessary sentimentality.
Dick:
Wow. You sound just like Bruce.
Bruce:
…
Y/n:
Blink twice if Dick stole your phone, Bruce.
Alfred:
I can assure you, Miss Y/n, Master Bruce typed that ellipsis himself.
Duke:
That’s somehow worse.
Cass:
🎄🤗.
Barbara:
Cass has officially said more than Bruce.
Bruce:
I like Christmas.
A beat.
Dick:
LIAR.
Stephanie:
PHOTO OR IT DIDN’T HAPPEN.
Y/n:
Bruce Wayne enjoying Christmas is my favorite urban legend.
The chat devolved into chaos the way it always did. Dick spamming photos of ugly sweaters, Steph demanding gift hints, Tim reminding everyone again that he did not want another mug, Damian arguing with Alfred about the “true meaning” of Christmas as if it were a tactical debate.
Y/n smiled at her phone, thumb hovering over the screen as she scanned the list of names.
She frowned slightly, scrolling back to check if she’d missed it. Nothing. No thumbs-up. No sarcastic comment.
Jason wasn’t big on group chats, he muted most of them, but he always reacted to her messages. Even if it was just a single dot. Even if it was a stupid meme response five hours later at 3 a.m.
She stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary.
Then she exhaled, shook her head, and locked her phone.
Don’t read into it, she told herself.
It’s Jason. He’s probably brooding. Or asleep. Or both.
She went back to wrapping presents.
-
Wayne Manor looked like something out of a magazine. All warm lights and wreaths and garlands, snow-dusted windows glowing gold against the grey Gotham morning.
Y/n stood on the front steps with an armful of gift bags and a tote slung over her shoulder, adjusting her grip before Alfred opened the door.
“Miss Y/n,” he greeted warmly, eyes crinkling. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” she echoed, smiling. “You look criminally well-rested.”
“Years of practice,” Alfred said smoothly, ushering her inside. “May I take those?”
“Yes, please, before my arms fall off and I sue.”
The manor was alive in a way it rarely was, laughter echoing from the sitting room, music playing softly somewhere down the hall, the smell of coffee and cinnamon and something baking drifting through the air.
Dick was the first to spot her.
“Y/n!” he called, already moving. He nearly tackled her into a hug, nearly knocking one of the remaining bags from her hands. “You made it!”
“Unfortunately,” she deadpanned, hugging him back anyway. “I was hoping the snowstorm would take me out.”
“You’re terrible,” he laughed, stepping aside. “Come in, everyone’s here.”
She stepped inside, greeted by warmth and noise and the overwhelming sight of the manor in full holiday mode. A massive tree dominated the main room, lit up like Gotham hadn’t existed for a day. Stockings hung along the mantle, yes, including one with a tiny embroidered bat symbol.
She started mentally checking faces.
Bruce stood near the fireplace, mug in hand, speaking quietly with Alfred. Tim was half-buried in wrapping paper on the couch. Stephanie and Duke were arguing over who stole whose ornament. Cass sat cross-legged on the rug, methodically sorting bows by color. Damian lurked near the tree like it might attack him.
Bruce inclined his head. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Bruce,” she said easily.
And then, almost without meaning to, she looked around again.
Counted.
Once. Twice.
Her smile faltered.
“…Where’s Jason?” she asked.
The room shifted.
It was subtle, but she felt it immediately, the way Dick’s grin dimmed just a fraction, the way Barbara’s eyes flicked toward Bruce, the way Alfred’s hands stilled for half a second.
Dick scratched the back of his neck. “Uh. We… don’t actually know.”
Her stomach sank.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“He didn’t come by,” Barbara said gently. “Didn’t answer texts. He wasn’t at his place last night either, but his bike’s there. He’s… fine. Probably.”
“Probably,” Y/n repeated flatly.
Bruce spoke next, voice even. “He didn’t indicate he wanted to attend.”
Y/n stared at him.
“That’s not an answer,” she said.
Bruce met her gaze, something complicated flickering there. “No. It’s not.”
She exhaled slowly, set the gift bags down by the tree.
“I’ll be back,” she said.
Dick stepped forward. “Hey, you don’t have to-”
“I know,” she interrupted softly. “But I want to.”
No one argued.
They all knew better.
It took her two places and a bad feeling before she found him.
Not at the manor. Not in one of his safehouses. But at an old rooftop he liked, one with a broken ledge and a view of the city that made Gotham look almost peaceful if you squinted.
Jason was sitting on the edge, boots dangling over open air, jacket pulled tight around him. No helmet. Hood up. A thermos by his side that was definitely not festive.
He didn’t look surprised when she climbed up behind him.
“Took you long enough,” he said.
She stopped a few feet away. Crossed her arms.
“You know,” Y/n said, tilting her head, looking at the back of his head, “most people ghost dates, not Christmas.”
Jason didn’t look up. “Didn’t realize I RSVP’d.”
She crossed her arms. “You didn’t show. You didn’t text. You didn’t even send a snarky ‘holidays are fake’ message.”
“Consider it character growth.”
She waited.
Jason exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“And yet,” she said, “here I am. Festive. Concerned. Annoyingly persistent.”
He finally looked at her then.
His eyes softened for just a second.
Then the walls slammed back into place.
“I’m not going,” he said flatly.
“Didn’t ask.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Okay,” she conceded. “I implied.”
Silence stretched.
Then Jason stood abruptly, pacing once, then twice. “I can’t do it, alright? I can’t sit in a room pretending we’re this… happy, functional thing.”
Y/n watched him carefully. Didn’t interrupt.
“Everyone laughing. Smiling. Acting like the past doesn’t exist.” His voice roughened. “I’m not good at pretending.”
She tilted her head. “Since when?”
He huffed a humorless laugh. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because this time it’s supposed to mean something.”
There it was.
Y/n stepped closer, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to perform.”
Jason shook his head. “That’s the whole point. Christmas is just… pressure. To be okay. To forgive. To forget.”
“And you don’t want to.”
“I can’t,” he snapped, then immediately winced. “I’m not there.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
That caught him off guard.
“That’s it?” he asked. “No pep talk? No ‘but family’ speech?”
Y/n shrugged. “Jason, this family is a mess. We all know that. No one’s expecting a Hallmark movie.”
He stared at her.
“You think Dick doesn’t know this is chaos?” she continued. “You think Bruce doesn’t wake up every day painfully aware that we’re all held together by duct tape and unresolved trauma?”
A corner of his mouth twitched.
“You don’t have to be happy,” she said gently. “You just have to be you.”
Jason looked away.
“I don’t want to ruin it.”
She scoffed. “Oh please. Damian already tried to weaponize the tinsel.”
That got a real laugh.
Small. Brief.
But real.
Y/n held out her hand. “Come on. You don’t have to stay long. We’ll leave whenever you want.”
He hesitated.
Then, slowly, he took her hand.
Jason doesn’t let go of her hand all the way back.
He loosens his grip when they reach the manor grounds, fingers slipping but not entirely retreating, like he’s reminding himself that he can still choose to leave. Y/N doesn’t comment on it. She just adjusts her pace to match his, steady and unassuming.
Inside, the noise hits them immediately.
Laughter. Music. The clink of mugs. Someone,probably Dick, nearly knocking something over.
Jason pauses in the doorway.
Y/N feels it before she sees it. The tension in his shoulders, the instinctive calculation behind his eyes. Fight-or-flight, Gotham-style. She gives his hand a quick squeeze. Nothing dramatic. Just there.
“I’ve got you,” she murmurs, like it’s nothing. Like it’s obvious.
Jason exhales, slow. Then he steps forward.
Dick sees them first.
His face lights up like someone just flipped a switch. “Oh my god. He lives.”
Jason rolls his eyes. “Miss me?”
“Every day,” Dick says dramatically, then reins himself in when he catches Jason’s expression. Softer, now. “Merry Christmas, man.”
“…Merry Christmas,” Jason replies, voice rough but real.
The room doesn’t explode into questions. No one crowds him. No one makes a big deal out of it. Bruce inclines his head. Alfred’s smile deepens. Barbara offers a small wave from the couch. Cass gives him a look that says I see you without saying a word.
Y/N clocks it all, stores it away.
Good. They’re giving him space.
Gift exchange happens naturally, the way it always does, messy, loud, overlapping.
Steph insists on going first. Duke heckles. Damian critiques wrapping paper like it’s a personal insult. Tim looks mildly stressed until he opens something and visibly relaxes. Bruce pretends he doesn’t like anything and then keeps it anyway.
Y/N hands gifts out steadily, trading snark for hugs, laughter for eye rolls. She feels lighter than she expected to. Maybe because Jason is still here. Maybe because she stopped trying to control how the day should look.
Eventually, the pile dwindles.
Only one gift remains.
Jason notices before she says anything.
He stiffens slightly, eyes flicking to the small package in her hands. It’s not flashy. No bow. Just brown paper, edges carefully folded, tied with simple twine.
Y/N clears her throat.
“Okay,” she says, voice deliberately casual. “Last one.”
A few heads turn.
Jason groans quietly. “You didn’t have to-”
“I did,” she cuts in, not unkindly. “Also, you don’t get to opt out after rooftop therapy.”
Dick perks up. “Ohhh, saved for last. That’s never ominous.”
Y/N ignores him and steps closer to Jason.
“For you,” she says simply, holding it out.
Jason hesitates.
Then he takes it.
His fingers are careful with the paper, like he’s bracing for something heavier than it looks. He unties the twine slowly, peels the paper back.
A book.
He blinks.
Pride and Prejudice.
Not a new copy, he could tell immediately. The cover was worn soft at the edges, spine creased just enough to say it had been read more than once. Loved, even.
Jason stared at it for a long second, then looked up at her. “You’re kidding,” he murmured.
Y/N scratched at the back of her neck. “Before you say anything—”
He looked up sharply. “Where did you get this?”
She blinked, a little surprised by the intensity in his voice. “Uh. My apartment.”
That stopped him.
“What?”
She shrugged. “I was digging through an old box. One of those ‘I’ll deal with this later’ boxes that you keep moving from closet to closet until you forget what’s even in it.”
The room had gone quiet again, but Y/N didn’t seem to notice.
“I found it tucked under a bunch of old notebooks and junk,” she continued.
She shrugged, suddenly a little self-conscious. “I figured… you might like it.”
His thumb brushed the edge of the cover, then the spine. He opened it without thinking, pages falling naturally to a familiar spot. He stopped when he saw the bent corner.
His breath left him in a slow, almost disbelieving exhale.
“You kept this,” he said.
“I didn’t even realize I still had it,” she replied. “But when I saw it, I thought of you.”
Jason let out a short, quiet laugh. “Of course you did.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That didn’t sound insulting enough.”
He shook his head. “Nah. Just… fitting.”
The room kept moving around them, wrapping paper rustling, voices overlapping, but Jason’s focus stayed on the book in his hands. He traced the dog-eared page once, thoughtfully.
He looks at her then. Really looks at her.
“Thank you,” he says.
It’s simple. Unguarded.
The room stays quiet for half a second longer than usual.
Then Dick claps once. Loud. “Okay. Wow, that’s- “
“Don’t,” Jason warned, but there was no heat behind it.
Dick grinned anyway. “I was gonna say ‘cute.’”
Jason flipped him off without looking.
The moment breaks.
Jason huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re all impossible.”
“But festive,” Y/N adds.
He glances down at the book again. Holds it a little tighter.
Later, much later, when the wrapping paper has been cleared and the room has settled into that comfortable, post-chaos lull, Jason ends up on the couch with the book open on his knee.
He’s not reading yet.
Just… holding it.
“Thank you,” he said again. This time it landed heavier.
She smiled, small and real. “I thought… if anyone would get it, it’d be you.”
He nodded once.
“Merry Christmas, Jason.” She gave him a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, flashing a soft smile.
“Merry Christmas, Y/n.” Jason said under his breath, barely audible but enough for her to hear.
He watched her walk away, the book warm under his hands, the manor humming quietly around him.
And later, when the house grew quieter and the chaos softened into something warm and manageable, Y/N caught sight of him again, sitting off to the side, book open in his hands, thumb resting right where the page bent.
Not pretending.
Just here.
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Note: Happy Halloween y'll! Halloween isn't a big thing in my country so a little fic for you guys. The long awaited chapter! It was a rollercoaster, but we got there! Let me know what you think. Please interact! Leave a comment and/or reblog. A like is always appreciated. Do you want to be added on the taglist (You get a notication that the new chapter is out)? Let me know or send a message.
Rewriting history.
“Good. You’re gonna love what happens next.”
The words had barely left her lips before Harley lunged, the swing wild and fast. Y/n dropped low, but the motion yanked hard at her injured shoulder. Pain lanced down her arm, nearly buckling her, but she forced through it. The bat whooshed past, smashing into the wall with enough force to crater the plaster.
Y/n surged forward, driving her good shoulder into Harley’s stomach. The impact rattled her bones but sent Harley stumbling back a step. Harley only giggled, “Ohh, you’re scrappy. Let’s play harder.”
She came again, bat sweeping in a brutal arc. Y/n blocked with her forearm, the jolt rattling straight into her bad shoulder. White-hot agony burst through her nerves and she cried out, falling to one knee. Harley’s grin sharpened, predatory.
“Gotcha.”
The bat swung again, Y/n rolled aside just in time. Splinters exploded where her head had been a moment before. She snatched a shard of wood from the floor, jabbing it upward in a desperate strike. It slashed across Harley’s thigh. Blood blossomed bright against her stockings.
“Oooow!” Harley squealed, hopping back, then burst into manic laughter. “That stings!”
Y/n charged before Harley could swing again, shoulder ramming her midsection. The two went crashing into the table, photos and red thread tangling around them. Harley twisted like a snake, jamming an elbow into Y/n’s ribs, knocking the breath from her lungs.
Pain flared, but she didn’t let go. She threw her weight forward, shoving Harley hard enough to send them both tumbling across the floor.
The bat clattered out of Harley’s grip, spinning across the room.
Both women lunged for it at once.
Y/n fingers brushed the handle first, but Harley’s nails raked across the back of her hand, sharp and vicious. “Nuh-uh, honey. That’s mine.”
Y/n gritted her teeth, yanking her hand back and instead driving a fist straight into Harley’s jaw. The crack echoed in the room. Harley’s head snapped sideways, then she laughed again, blood slicking her grin.
“Oh, baby can punch.” Harley’s grin sharpened. She whistled, and masked men poured in behind her, chains rattling, pipes raised, knives flashing.
“Don’t just stand there, ya mugs!” Harley squealed. “Make her bleed!”
Y/n snatched a broken chair leg from the wreckage, swinging it hard into the nearest goon’s jaw. He dropped instantly. Another lunged with a chain, she ducked low, pain sparking through her ribs as she twisted, then drove the chair leg into his gut. He folded, wheezing.
“She's just playing with you, idiots!” Harley screamed. “Break her!”
Two rushed her at once. Y/n ducked under the first swing, grabbing a bottle off the counter, smashing into one thug’s temple. Another slammed a pipe into her thigh, she hissed, pain streaking hot. Y/n twisted, snatching the pipe from his hands, then using the pipe to smash his kneecap. He folded screaming.
The room blurred into chaos. Chains snapped, glass shattered, metal rang. Y/n ducked, struck, blocked, and hit back harder, every strike fueled by stubborn fire. Her ribs burned, shoulder screamed, but she didn’t let up. Y/n swung a pipe she grabbed off the ground, waiting for another one to test her.
“You’re feisty,” Harley sang, grinning wide. “Guess Hood really likes a girl with teeth. What’s he calls you, huh? His little red riding hood?”
Y/n froze, rage cutting through her like lightning.
“Say that again,” she hissed, voice low and dangerous.
Harley smirked, leaning in. “Little red’s probably getting himself eaten alive right now. And you? You can’t even keep the wolves outta your own apartment.”
The words snapped the leash on Y/n’s control.
Y/n lunged. She moved faster than Harley expected, swinging the pipe into her knee- Thunk- then following with an elbow into her jaw. Harley shrieked, stumbling. Y/n didn’t let her recover. A glass shard carved a shallow line across Harley’s side, a chair leg slammed her shoulder, and finally Y/n’s boot connected with her chest, sending her crashing into the wall.
Harley laughed, breathless but faltering. “Heh- you hit like–”
CRACK. Y/n connected Harley’s own bat against her temple. Harley crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Y/n stood panting, sweat and blood dripping, every muscle trembling. She barely had time to catch her breath–
The apartment floor shook.
A giant silhouette filling the once doorframe.
A brute. Nearly seven feet, muscle stacked thick, mask stretched into a painted grin. He stepped inside, cracking his knuckles.
“Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Y/n muttered, chest still heaving from the last round.
He charged like a truck. Y/n swung her bat, he caught it midair, wrenching it free and tossing it aside like kindling. His fist slammed into her ribs, lifting her off her feet and slamming her into the wall. Pain exploded through her chest.
She staggered up, snatched the broken pipe, and swung it across his back. He grunted but turned, backhanding her across the face. She crashed into the floor, stars bursting in her vision.
Before she could rise, his boot pinned her down.
“Stay. Down,” he rumbled, hands reaching for her throat, his weight crushed down, pinning her.
Air fled her lungs. She clawed at his arms, kicked, thrashed, nails scraping his mask. His grip only tightened. Spots danced in her vision. Her ribs screamed where his knees pressed her sides. She was seconds from blacking out.
Her hand flailed blindly, scraping across the wreckage that was once her home. Fingers brushed glass.. fabric.. then cold metal.
The shattered lamp base.
With the last of her strength, she gripped it’s base and swung upward.
CRACK.
The brute’s head snapped back. He snarled but didn’t release.
Y/n swung again. And again. CRACK.CRACK.CRACK.
Blood splattered, his grip finally faltering.
Her arms trembled, throat burning, but she pushed, shoving his dead weight off with a guttural cry. She rolled to her side, coughing hard, chest heaving, lungs dragging in painful air.
The brute groaned, trying to rise. Y/n staggered to her knees, grabbed her bat again, and with one last desperate swing - CRACK - she smashed it across his temple. He collapsed, finally motionless.
Y/n slumped onto the wrecked floor, throat raw, body shaking.
She wiped blood from her mouth with the back of her hand, staring at Harley’s crumpled body. The silence that followed felt wrong, too heavy, too still.
She limped closer, grabbed Harley by the chin, forcing her head up. “Where’s he?”
Harley’s lashes fluttered, that damned grin still, twitching across her lips. “Mmm.. if I told ya, it’d ruin the surprise.”
Y/n’s grip tightened. “Try me.”
Harley’s eyes rolled back, like she was savoring the moment. “You ever lose a puppy, sweetcheeks? You look just like that. Broody. Desperate. It’s cute.”
Y/n slammed her against the wall. “Where. Is. He?”
Harley laughed, breathy, unhinged, blood bubbling from her nose. “You think I got him? Oh, honey, you’re not even looking at the right clown.”
Something cold crawled up Y/n’s spine.
“What do you mean?”
Harley smiled wider, teeth red. “Tick-tock, baby doll. By the time you find him..” She leaned close, voice a rasp against Y/n’s ear.
“He’ll already be gone.”
Y/n’s fist clenched. Every nerve screamed to hit her again, to make her talk, but something in Harley’s eyes stopped her. There was fear there, buried beneath the mania.
Y/n let go. Harley slumped, giggling weakly. The sound cracked, jagged, until it dissolved into a rattling cough. Her head tipped back against the wall, eyes rolling half-shut.
“Sweet dreams, sugar..” she slurred. Then her body went slack.
The grin stayed.
Y/n stood there frozen, Harley’s words gnawing at her chest. “Not the right clown.”
Tick-tock.
The silence felt heavier now, pressing in like the walls themselves were listening.
Y/n let out a slow, shaky breath, the kind that scraped against her ribs. The apartment was a ruin, glass, blood, plaster dust thick in the air. The only sound left was the soft crackle of the broken wiring sparking somewhere behind the wall.
Her head pounded. The world tilted slightly when she tried to stand. She braced herself on the counter, swallowing down the taste of blood.
Then she remembered-
The call.
Her phone.
Her eyes darted across the chaos. The explosion Harley had set off had blown half the living room apart. Somewhere in the mess, her phone had gone flying.
“Come on, come on..” she muttered, limping through the wreckage.
She kicked aside chunks of wood, overturned a chair, scanning the floor. The faint buzz of static drew her toward the couch, half-burned, one leg splintered.
Y/n dropped to her knees, grimacing as pain shot through her shoulder, and reached under. Her fingers brushed glass, then something smooth, metallic.
She pulled it free.
It blinked weakly, screen cracked, casing dented. She pressed it to her ear, heart hammering.
Static hissed, then Bruce’s gravel-edged voice cut through. “Y/n? You there?”
“Yeah… I’m here,” she rasped, voice shaking but steadying herself. “It’s… it’s a mess.”
“Mess? What happened?” His tone sharpened instantly, focus locking in.
She let out a slow breath, bracing her battered body against the counter. “Harley came in,” she said, almost casually, though her ribs screamed protest. “Door blown, smoke, goons. We fought. I… handled it.”
“Handled it?” Bruce’s voice carried disbelief.
She chuckled faintly, grimacing. “Yeah, handled it. Very heroic as well. I’m bruised, bleeding, exhausted… but they’re down. I’ve got the room cleared.”
There was silence, then a sharp intake of breath from the other side.
“Before she came in… I realized who’s been orchestrating all of this,” Y/n continued, her voice low, steady. “Joker. It’s been him all along. I was just about to tell you that Jason went to the east docks when she burst in. Proves my point, he wants to play with us, set traps. And now… now we’ve got to move. Fast.”
Bruce’s tone softened slightly, though his edge remained. “The east docks?”
“Yes,” she said urgently. “That’s where Jason was heading. That’s where he’ll be, if he isn’t already in trouble. We don’t have time.”
There was a pause, then a warning. “Y/n, calm down. You’ve been through hell, and you’re injured. Let the others handle it. You don’t need to-”
“Don’t you dare tell me I’m not going,” she snapped, cutting him off. Her voice was calm but hard as steel. “If you think I’m not helping, you are damn wrong. You want to argue? Fine. But I’m not sitting here while Jason’s out there and Joker’s playing his games.”
Bruce’s sigh came through the static, heavy with exasperation. “You’re stubborn.”
“You’re telling me something I don’t already know,” she replied, wincing as her shoulder protested.
“Dick is on his way to get you,” Bruce said finally, his tone clipped. “I’ve also notified the GCPD, Harley and her goons are confirmed in your apartment. Do not engage further. Wait for Dick.”
“Copy,” Y/n murmured, though she didn’t lower her guard. She slid down the wall, her phone in her hand, bracing herself as a shadow fell across the window.
A crash of movement, Dick landed on the other side, gloved hands catching the sill, eyes widening as he took in the wreck. Splintered wood, shattered glass, overturned furniture, blood streaked across walls.
“You… what happened here?!” His voice was shocked, disbelief lacing every word.
“Jesus, Y/n…” His voice was low, heavy with something caught between worry and guilt. His eyes swept over her, cheek bruised and cut, lip split, shoulder pulled, fresh bruising across her neck from where the brute had nearly crushed the life out of her. “You shouldn’t be standing.”
She let out a snort, breathless laugh that broke into a cough. “Not standing. Sitting.”
Dick’s brow furrowed. “That’s not funny.”
He bent down, to her eye level. His grip on her shoulder tightened, steady but firm, grounding her. “You nearly got killed. Twice, by the look of it.” He flicked a glance at the unconscious heap of Harley Quinn, then the hulking brute sprawled across the floor. His jaw flexed. “You went up against this alone.”
She swallowed hard, dragging in a shaky breath. “Didn’t have a choice.”
Her voice softened, eyes flicking to Harley’s crumpled form. “She said something about him.”
He exhaled slowly, the tension rolling off him in waves. “And you nearly beat her to death for saying it, didn’t you?” She gave him a slight shrug, not meeting his eyes.
Dick’s lips pressed in a thin line, relief flickering across his features. He rose smoothly, extending a hand down to her. She hesitated only a second before gripping it. His arm was strong, steady as he pulled her up against him, letting her lean just enough without stealing her dignity.
Her apartment was ruined around them. Shattered glass, unconscious thugs, Harley sprawled half against the wall with a smear of blood in her hair. The brute’s huge frame lay still as stone.
“Hey,” she said, glancing back at the destroyed doorframe, “Harley owes me a new door. Or at least a really good apology.”
Dick couldn’t help a grin despite the chaos. “I think she’s above that kind of thing,” he said, dryly, vaulting over a splintered chair.
“Figures,” Y/n muttered, rolling her shoulder to ease the ache.
They moved fast, leaping from the rooftops and slipping through dark alleyways, Dick guiding her with precise agility. The city lights flickered below as they cut through the night towards the batcave. She could feel every bruise and bone-jarring step, but adrenaline and stubbornness propelled her forward.
Finally, the familiar hum and glow of the batcave welcomed them. Dick led her inside as Alfred was already moving toward them, his eyes widening slightly at her bloodied state.
“Miss Y/n, you look like you wrestled a whole circus,”Alfred said, exasperated but efficient, grabbing medical supplies.
“Close enough,” she muttered, allowing him to assess her wounds. “Harley brought reinforcements. And I may have.. rearranged the furniture.”
Bruce, Barbara, Damian and Tim were already gathered around the batcomputer, eyes flicking between screens and her battered figure.
“Take a picture, it will last longer,” Y/n mumbled, slightly rolling her eyes.
“What happened?” Barbara asked, voice tight with concern.
“Long story,” Y/n said, sitting heavily on one of the batcave benches. Alfred began gently tending her cheek, her shoulder and ribs. “I’ll keep it short. Harley and her goons showed up while I was tracking a lead. I fought them off.” She shrugged, downplaying the blood and bruises. “No big deal. Just a few broken chairs, a door… minor casualties.”
Tim’s eyes narrowed, already moving towards the batcomputer. “Minor? She demolished half of your apartment."
“Details, details,” Y/n said, wincing as Alfred cleaned a cut on her arm. “Before she came in, I realized who’s been behind all the setups. Joker. He’s been manipulating the whole mess. Jason and I.. we were following a lead, something he found about one of the security cams.”
Bruce’s gaze sharpened. “And Jason?”
“He went to the east docks,” Y/n said, voice low and urgent. “That’s where he was heading. We don’t have time to waste.
Damian’s brow furrowed. “You’re suggesting we go directly to the docks?”
“Yes,” Y/n said firmly, ignoring the ache in her ribs as she leaned forward. “It might be a trap but we work as a team. We need to move fast. If we wait for a full plan, Jason could be in serious danger.” She glanced at Tim and Damian. “Also, Jason had checked security cameras in his apartment before heading out. You two should go see what he discovered, maybe we can get a sense of what he found, where he was heading, anything useful.”
Barbara exchanged a glance with Bruce, who remained silent, weighing the risk. Finally, he sighed, giving a subtle nod.
“Fine,” he said. “But Y/n, your injuries-”
“I’m fine,”she interrupted, wincing slightly as Alfred adjusted a bandage on her shoulder. “I’ll be fine. But Joker won’t wait, and neither should we.”
Alfred muttered something about “reckless bloody young women,” but his hands worked quickly to clean and dress her wounds, leaving her only slightly constrained.
Dick stepped closer, glancing at her with a mix of concern and admiration. “You sure you can keep up?”
“Try to stop me,”Y/n said, smirking despite the pain. “You’ll see I’m faster than I look.”
Bruce finally spoke, voice low but decisive. “Dick will stay with her. Tim and Damian. You two check Jason’s apartment for anything useful. Barbara, monitor communications”
Bruce’s orders fell into motion instantly. Tim and Damian split off toward the upper tunnels that let back into Gotham, Barbara’s voice already crackling over comms as she began pulling feeds from every available dock camera.
Y/n pushed herself to her feet before Alfred could stop her. Her ribs screamed, but she ignored it moving to the gear lockers near the far wall. Dick frowned as she started stripping off her torn shirt and grabbing her armor, and just sighed. “You’re not going to sit still for more than a minute, are you?”
She shot him a quick look. “You expected me to show up to a rescue mission in jeans?”
He didn’t argue. Just folded his arms, watching as she pulled on her suit piece by piece, sleek black plating over reinforced mesh, the red accent faint under the cave’s harsh lights. Alfred moved closer, silent but approving, handing her fresh gauntlets.
“Try not to destroy these ones,” he muttered.
“No promises,” Y/n said, sliding them on and flexing her fingers.
She reached up for her weapon rack, clicking the clasps into place on her belt, throwing knives, compact smoke bombs and finally her weapon of choice: a kusarigama, it’s curved blade gleaming under the light, chain coiled neatly around the handle. She hooked it at her hip, the sound of metal against metal sharp and sure.
“Now,” she said, voice cool and steady. “Let’s go get him.”
Bruce didn’t argue this time. He strode towards the hangar, cape sweeping behind him as the Batmobile powered to life, its engine growling through the cavern.
The three of them moved quickly, Bruce on the driver’s seat, Dick beside him, Y/n in the back, adjusting her gear as the city lights streaked by. The hum of the engine filled the silence until they rolled up on the east docks, a sprawl of rusted metal and flickering lights over black water.
The rain had started again, thin and cold. Moving in formation, they slipped through the maze of containers and loading cranes, boots silent against the wet concrete.
“Stay sharp,” Bruce said quietly. “Anything that looks out of place, mark it."
The smell hit Y/n first, oil, salt, and gunpowder. Her pulse quickened.
They rounded a corner where the concrete was cracked and darkened. Something metallic glinted under a broken light. Dick crouched, brushing his gloved fingers against a steak of dark red.
“Blood,” he said grimly.
Y/n’s jaw tightened. Her eyes scanned the ground, drag marks, scuffing, boot prints overlapping. “There was a fight here,” she murmured. “Recently.”
Bruce’s gaze swept over the scene. “Search everything. Jason would have left something.”
They spread out, scanning the shadows. The creak of shifting metal echoed faintly till.
“Here,” Dick called, half-hidden behind a crate. He crouched and held up a phone, cracked, screen shattered, casing dented. “Found this. Could be anyone’s, though.”
Y/n froze. The sight of it hit like a blow to the face. She stepped closer, taking it from him gently, turning it in her gloved hand.
The breath caught in her throat, her thumb brushed over the scratched casing, familiar in a way that made her chest ache.
“It’s his,” she said quietly.
Dick frowned. “You can tell from that?”
Her eyes stayed on the phone, fingers tracing the faint dent along the side.
The world seemed to tilt, and suddenly she was somewhere else.
Two years ago
The city hummed below them, the skyline painted in molten orange as the sun dipped behind Gotham’s towers. Jason sat on the edge of the rooftop, mask off, a half-eaten donut beside him and a bored scowl on his face.
“Did you drag me up here to watch the sunset?” he muttered. “Because that’s very Hallmark of you, Y/n.”
She rolled her eyes, pulling something small from her jacket pocket. “Don’t flatter yourself, Jay. I just needed to give you this before you break your old one completely.”
He raised an eyebrow as she tossed a slim box his way. He caught it easily, suspicious. “What’s it?"
“Just open it.”
He did, and his expression twisted between amusement and annoyance. “A phone case? Really?”
She leaned against the ledge beside him, smirking. “Your last one’s got more cracks than your sense of humor. Consider it field equipment.”
Jason huffed a laugh, turning the new case over in his hands, a deep matte black, lined with reinforced edges. “This better not be some kind of birthday thing,” he warned.
“It’s not,” she said quickly, though her grin gave her away.
“Uh-huh.” He slid it on his phone anyway, flexing it in his hand. “Well, if it was, hypothetically, it’s not the worst present I’ve ever gotten.”
“Hypothetically,” she echoed, bumping her shoulder against his.
He glanced at her, the faintest smile tugging his mouth. “Thanks. Y/n. For the totally-not-a-birthday-gift.”
“Anytime, tough guy.”
The memory faded as quickly as it came, replaced by the cold, damp air of the docks.
Y/n blinked hard, her throat tightening. The same case, now cracked and scuffed, stared back at her in her palm.
“It’s his,” she said again, firmer this time. “I gave him this a couple of years ago. He never changed it.”
Dick’s expression softened, the usual teasing gone. “Then he didn’t get far.”
Y/n’s grip on the broken phone tightened as Bruce’s comm crackled. “Oracle, anything?”
Barbara's voice came back after a few tense seconds. “I’m pulling from nearby cameras now. The ones by the waterline are fried, but… hold on.”
A faint hum filled the comms. The batcomputer in the cave flickered, relaying the feed to their wrist displays and Bruce’s gauntlet. The picture was grainy, jumpy, half static, half shadow, but clear enough to make Y/n’s stomach drop.
“There,” Barbara murmured. “That’s the east access road from Dock nine.”
The footage played silently in black and white. Jason’s unmistakable figure, Red Hood’s outline, strode into view, weapon drawn, scanning the area. A second later, shapes emerged from behind shipping containers, three, then five, then more. Armed. Moving fast.
He fought hard. Even through the jerky frame rate, it was clear he was cutting through them, efficient and brutal. But they kept coming.
Y/n’s pulse spiked. “He’s surrounded.”
Dick leaned closer to the projection. “He’s holding his own, look at that move-”
Then the motion caught his words. A van turned the corner, pulling up near the fight. No, not a van.
An ice cream truck.
The paint was faded, once blues and pinks, now smeared with grime and something darker. Cartoon faces along the side were warped by time and bullet holes. The melody that would’ve played seemed almost audible, like a ghost through the static.
The back doors swung open.
And he stepped out.
Even through the distortion, there was no mistaking the posture, the lazy swagger, the white flash of his face, the tilt of his head like he was greeting old friends.
The Joker.
Y/n felt her blood run cold. She couldn’t hear the words, but she didn’t need to. His mouth moved, wide and exaggerated, mocking, laughing, taunting. The thugs froze in his presence, some almost bowing. Jason turned towards him, shoulder stiff, gun aimed dead center.
Bruce’s hand curled into a fist. “Damn it..” he muttered under his breath.
The joker’s expression shifted, something gleeful, cruel, and he began talking, gesturing wildly, spinning circles in the dust. Jason stepped foward once, twice, then a flash of motion. Someone hit him from behind.
He went down hard.
Joker crouched beside him, saying something right into Jason’s face, before turning slowly, almost theatrically, toward the camera.
For a single, perfect second, he looked straight into the lens.
Then the gun came up, lazy and casual, and the feed exploded into static.
The screen went black.
The only sound was the wind off the bay.
Barbara’s voice broke the silence. “That’s… that’s all there is. The rest of the footage is gone. Every other camera in the area’s been fried.”
Bruce and Dick shared a dark look, but Y/n’s attention had already drifted to the shadow just beyond the dock. Her flashlight beam caught something, a dull glint of chrome and red beneath a sheet of scattered debris.
She stepped closer, heart hammering, battered but recognizable, the familiar scuffed red color.
Jason’s bike.
Dick knelt beside her, inspecting the damage.
Bruce’s jaw tightened. “Joker left it here for us to find.”
Y/n’s fingers ghosted over the dented handlebars. For a moment, she didn’t breathe. “Then I’m taking it,” she said finally, her voice hardening.
Bruce’s gaze snapped to her. “Y/n-”
She looked up. His eyes were in the phone still clutched in her hand, Jason’s phone, cracked and blood stained.
“Focus,” Bruce said. “We find where the truck went next. Oracle, pull traffic cameras within a ten-mile radius. Dick, you’re with me. Y/n, stay close,” he ordered, voice clipped.
Barbara’s voice broke in over comms. “Got something. The truck’s signal reappeared on a bridge camera near the industrial sector, heading southeast, maybe toward the old amusement park grounds.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed, “Of course.”
“Of course, “ Y/n echoed bitterly. “He’d pick the one place that already looks like hell.”
Bruce turned to her and Dick, all business again.
She was already swinging a leg over the bike, wincing slightly but determined. “You said we move. I can move faster through the side roads.”
Dick’s smirks was faint, grim. “Don’t crash his bike.”
Y/n gave him a look. “Please. I’m the one who tuned it last.”
The motor roared to life, echoing off the concrete and steel around them. She gripped the throttle, eyes hard on purpose.
The batmobile and bike rolled to a stop on the cracked asphalt outside Gotham’s old amusement park, long since abandoned, rusting under the moonlight. In painted red letters on the archway read “Where every smile’s a scream!”
The place was a ghost town, rusted rides, toppled clown statues, banners shredded by time. The ferris wheel loomed overhead like a broken halo, its cars swaying gently with each gust.
Bruce stepped out first, cape billowing behind him. “Stay alert,” he said, voice low, sharp with tension.
Y/n followed, pain biting with every step, but adrenaline pushed her forward. The moonlight caught something glinting across the lot.
“There,” Dick murmured, pointing toward the shadow near the carousel.
An ice cream truck sat half buried in darkness. The back doors hung open. One door was bent inward, forced.
The three approached carefully, boots crunching on broken glass and gravel. The air reeks of oil and copper, thick and metallic.
Y/n’s pulse spiked as she reached the doors, inside was blood and chains.
Her breath hitched. “He was here.”
Bruce crouched by the truck’s frame. “Recently.” He brushed his gloved fingers across a smear of blood, still tacky.
And then-
The world hummed.
A faint buzz rose in the air, low at first, then growing louder. A split second later, the entire amusement park exploded to life.
Every light bulb, every rusted ride, every cracked neon sign blazed on at once.
The ferris wheel lit up with garish, flashing bulbs; the carousel groaned to life, its broken horses jerking in circles; speakers cracked with warped carnival music that warbled through the night.
Y/n flinched, throwing an arm up against the sudden glare. “What the hell?”
Bruce’s voice went dark. “He knows we’re here.”
Dick’s head turned sharply. “And he wants us to stay.”
The air felt heavier now vibrating with electricity. Somewhere deeper in the park, a faint voice echoed, hoarse, broken, screaming.
Y/n’s head snapped toward the sound. “Jason.”
They ran. The screams carried them through rusted gates and across broken walkways, twisting between the glowing rides like a sinister breadcrumb trail. The source led them to the fun house, the mirror-lined structure that leaned precariously to one side. Its windows were dark, reflecting fractured light, the air inside smelled of stale popcorn and something fouler beneath. The sign above it swayed in the wind -Fun Never Ends!- its lights flickering between red and white.
Y/n led, with Bruce and Dick close behind. She pushed the door open, the hinges groaning. Inside, the distorted mirror reflected endless versions of them, stretching the corridors like the park itself had grown a mind. The scream echoed, bouncing off the warped glass and plastic, chilling and disorienting.
They navigated spinning tunnels, trap doors, and crawling through overhead nets, each obstacle designed to confuse and slow them. Every step pulled them deeper into the park’s grotesque embrace.
Finally, they came to a dead end, a small, dim room cluttered with broken carnival prizes and cracked popcorn machines, and the screaming stopped. An old television sat against the far wall, flickering to life in the dim light.
Y/n’s steps slowed. “Batman..”
The static cleared.
The video was old, grainy, washed in the cold hue of bad lighting.
Jason.
Tied to a chair.
Face bloodied, defiance burning in his eyes.
The Joker danced around him, gesturing wildly, a crowbar glinting in his hand. The sound didn’t come through, only the faint hum of the footage as it played.
Y/n’s chest tightened. “No..”
Dick froze beside her, eyes locked on the screen. “This is- this is from back then. From when he-” He stopped himself.
Bruce stood utterly still. His cape hung motionless at his sides, fists tightening once, then stilling again.
The Joker leaned in close to Jason’s face to the screen, lips moving, smile wide and cruel. Then he turned, slowly, to the camera. And for a moment, it felt like he was staring right at them.
The speaker crackled to life.
“Do you remember that, Bats?”
The voice was alive now, not part of the footage. “What fun we had, didn’t we? Maybe this time you’ll be on time?”
With a manic laughter, the screen went black. The lights died with it.
For a long moment, none of them spoke. The only sound was the low hum of the park’s power shutting back down.
Y/n shallowed hard. “He’s… not here. He was never here.”
Dick cursed under his breath. “It was all a setup. Just to drag us out.”
Bruce’s jaw flexed, the faintest breath escaping him before he spoke. His tone was steady, but the weight behind it was undeniable. “He wanted us to see that. To remind us how far he’s willing to go.”
The silence hung too long.
Too still.
Bruce’s voice cut through it. “We’re leaving.”
Y/n exhaled slowly, nodding. “Fine by me.”
Dick glanced one last time at the blank television, then turned towards the corridor, “Yeah. Let’s get out before the place decides to-”
THUNK
A heavy metallic slam cut him off.
The ground beneath their feet shuddered. A split second later, steel walls dropped from the ceiling like guillotines, slicing through the funhouse corridors.
“Move!” Bruce barked.
They sprinted for the exit, but the walls fell faster, sealing corridors one after another with echoing crashes. Sparks rained from where the metal bit into the ground.
“Y/V/N, this way!” Dick shouted, reaching for her arm, but another partition slammed down between them, cutting her off.
“Nigthwing!” she shouted, pounding the steel.
“Stay put!” Bruce’s voice came muffled through the metal.
She barely had time to breathe before the floor trembled again. Beneath her boots, the panels split open, revealing nothing but swirling smoke below. The air hissed, soft at first, then louder, a poisonous whisper. A sharp, sweet scent filled the air.
Bruce recognized it immediately. “Fear toxin!”
He reached for his cowl filters, but too late. The world tilted. The mirrors around him rippled, stretching like liquid.
Then he saw Jason.
Bound to a chair. Bloodied. Younger. Defiant eyes flashing through tears. Joker’s laughter echoed, faint, almost remembered.
Bruce froze. “No..”
He lunged forward, Jason reached for him, desperate.
Bruce’s gloved hand met glass. The image shattered.
But it reformed instantly, Jason again, dragged into darkness. Bruce’s breath caught in his throat. He moves forward, faster, breaking through reflection after reflection, but no matter how fast he went.
He was too late. Every time.
Jason’s scream ripped through him like it was happening again.
Over and over.
Until it changed.
The Joker turned towards him through the glass, eyes gleaming with delight.
“Missed him again, Bats,” the hallucination sneered. “You always do.”
Bruce’s fist clenched. The weight of failure pressed like iron on his chest. The toxin whispered every doubt he’d buried deep: You failed him. You’ll fail her too.
He struck the mirror, shards flying, but the laughter didn’t stop.
Somewhere nearby, Dick stumbled through his own maze.
Each mirror showed someone different, faces he’d failed to save, voices he couldn't silence.
A child crying. Jason again, leaning against a wall, arms crossed, smirking with bitter venom.
“You can’t save everyone, you know,” the illusion said. “You try and you break.
Dick shook his head, clutching his temples. “That’s not-”
But the reflections multiplied, a hundred versions of him, each one watching someone die.
“You left me behind,” Jason’s voice hissed. “You left all of us,” another echoed.
Dick gasped, staggering back. “No. No, I didn’t!”
But guilt seeped in like smoke, thick, suffocating. He dropped to his knees, choking on memories that weren’t real but felt carved into bone.
And then-
Y/n.
Her lungs burned as the gas crept in. The mirrors around her shuddered, reflections bending, cracking, until one image solidified.
Jason.
He was standing in front of her, lit by the dim, flickering bulbs. But this Jason looked.. wrong. Pale. Hollow. Blood streaked down from his temple. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“You shouldn’t have let me go,” he said softly. “You knew it was a trap.”
Her throat tightened. “No.. Jason, I tried to-”
“You always try,” he interrupted, voice low, almost kind. “But you never finish the job, do you?”
Her pulse stuttered. “Stop it.”
The reflection shifted. Now he was sitting, the same chair from the footage, his head hanging forward. When he looked up, the bruises were back. The blood. The defeat.
“You watched it happen once,” he murmured. “And now it’s happening again.”
Her knees gave out, hitting the cold floor. “That’s not fair. You don’t get to say that.”
The air around her warped, the mirrors filling with Jason in every form: Jason laughing. Jason dying. Jason screaming for her help.
Every version of him turned to her, whispering the same thing:
“You failed me.”“You left me.”“You forgot me.”
Her heart cracked open under the sound of it. It wasn’t just accusations, it was a loss made real.
She reached up, shaking, pressing her palm to the nearest mirror. “Stop it- please, stop.”
The Jason before her leaned close, voice breaking into a cruel, quiet whisper.
“You don’t get to miss me, not after what you did.”
Tears blurred her vision. “You’d never say that,” she whispered. “You’d never..”
Her breathing slowed.
Something inside her snapped, not the pain, but clarity.
“You’d never blame me for what happened. You’d fight me, sure,” she said, her voice trembling, “but you’d never hate me for surviving.”
The reflection blinked, hesitated, and then flickered, glitching like static.
She stood up slowly, hand still pressed to the glass. “You’re not him. He’s out there. I know he is.”
The world around her wavered. The gas still hissed faintly, but the images began to fade.
Her voice steadied. “This isn’t real.”
The mirrors cracked outward from where her palm touched, spiderwebbing until they all shattered in a cascade of glittering glass.
She stumbled forward into the clearing haze, gasping, coughing, but awake.
Then she heard it. Bruce’s ragged breathing. Dick’s distant shouts.
She cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed, voice echoing through the warped corridors.
"Batman! Nightwing! It’s not real! You hear me? It’s not real!”
Bruce froze mid-step.
For a second, the illusion still had him, the sound of chains, Jason’s voice echoing. Then he heard her again. faint but fierce.
“Batman! It’s not real!”
He blinked. The image stuttered, then broke apart entirely.
The mirrors reflected only him now, older, scarred, alive.
He drew a breath through his teeth, voice low. “Y/V/N.”
He turned and started moving, faster now, following her voice through the smoke.
Dick was next.
Her voice cut through the storm of guilt like a lifeline.
“Nightwing! Can you hear me? It’s not real!”
He lifted his head, gasping. The mirrored faces flickered, replaced by her reflection instead, bloodied, exhausted, but real.
“Come on, pretty boy,” she said through the haze, managing a hoarse grin. “You’re stronger than that.”
He choked out a shaky laugh. “Guess I really needed that pep talk.”
The toxin broke its hold, dissipating as he moved toward her voice.
When they finally found each other again, the air was thick with the stench of the gas, and the lights had dimmed to a dull pulse.
Y/n leaned against a broken support beam, breathing hard but steady, blood still smeared across her cheek. “You two good?”
Bruce didn’t answer at first. He looked between her and Dick, jaw locked, eyes darker than the shadows.
Then quietly, “he used the toxin to separate us. To make us turn on ourselves.”
Y/n nodded, voice soft but steady now. “Then he failed. We’re still standing.”
The funhouse groaned around them, metal shifting, glass cracking.
“Let’s get out of here,” Dick said, glancing toward the door.
Bruce led the way this time, silent but steady, cape dragging through broken glass. The toxin vents hissed one last time as the park lights flickered out again, leaving only their shadows, and the echo of laughter somewhere far, far deeper in Gotham.
————————
The elevator doors hissed open, and the three of them stepped back into the Batcave, worn down, silent, and coated in a thin layer of grime and dust from the ruined funhouse. The quiet hum of the cave greeted them, a strange comfort after the chaos.
Alfred was waiting at the bottom of the platform stairs, a towel draped over one arm, an unimpressed expression carefully masking the worry in his eyes.
“Good heavens,” he said, taking one look at them. “You all look as though you wrestled the city itself and came in second place.”
Bruce didn’t reply, his cape still trailing smoke from the toxin vents. Dick gave a tired half-smile. “Feels about right,” he muttered.
Alfred sighed. “Of course it does. Master Bruce, gloves off, if you please.”
Bruce obeyed without argument, removing the gauntlets as Alfred took his hand. Faint bruises marked the knuckles, he’d hit glass, hard, more than once. Alfred’s eyes flicked up briefly, but he said nothing, only cleaned and wrapped the hand with quiet precision.
“Nothing broken,” Alfred murmured, “though I’d suggest refraining from punching your reflection for at least the next day or two.”
Bruce grunted. “Noted.”
“Master Dick,” Alfred continued, turning with that same no-nonsense tone. “Your turn.”
Dick signed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re not gonna believe me if I say I’m fine, are you?”
“After all these years, have I ever?” Alfred replied smoothly. He began inspecting a cut along Dick’s chin, dabbing antiseptic that earned a wince.
“Still stings?”
“Like hell.”
“Good. That means it’s working.”
Y/n stood nearby, arms crossed, trying to hide how much her own body hurt. Her ribs still ached from the earlier fight, her head pounding faintly from the lingering toxin. She thought she’d gotten off easy, Alfred had already patched her up when they came in last.
But when he finished with Dick, Alfred turned his gaze directly to her.
“Miss Y/n,”he said, tone deceptively calm. “Over here.”
She blinked. “But..you already did.”
Alfred arched an eyebrow. “Those five minutes did not qualify as medical care. Now, sit.”
Y/n opened her mouth to protest, then thought better of it and trudged over the med bay cot. “You know,” she said, settling down, “you’re a lot scariest when you’re polite about it.”
“That’s what makes it effective,” Alfred said, examining a cut on her temple. “Hold still.”
She winced as he cleaned it, then exhaled softly.
Alfred began checking her bandages, replacing one that had come loose. “You’ve managed to reopen half these wounds in the span of an hour.”
“Occupational hazard,” she said lightly.
“Reckless habit,” he corrected. “You’ve been spending too much time with this lot.”
She winced as he pressed gauze against a cut. “Oh, I was like this before them. They just gave me better equipment.”
A small, reluctant curve touched Alfred’s lips. "Wonderful. I look forward to treating the upgraded injuries.”
When he was done, she slipped off the table and wandered toward the mission hub, drawn by the faint glow of Gotham’s map. Red pins blinked over the city, Barbara’s sighting, routes, recent joker sightings, and toxin dispersal zones. She leaned on the table’s edge, staring down at the light but not really seeing it.
Behind her, the others spoke in a low voice.
“How’s she holding up?” Barbara asked quietly, eyes flicking toward Y/n.
Dick glanced her way, watching Y/n’s steady posture. “Physically? She’s beat up but solid. Alfred’s miracle tape does its thing.
“And mentally?” Barbara pressed.
Bruce’s voice was calm, but the weight in it said he wasn’t detached. “She was with him not long before it happened. That’s not the kind of thing you shake off.”
“She won’t,” Dick said quietly. “Not until he’s home.”
Alfed folded his arms. “Miss Y/n has a particular gift for compartmentalizing pain until it becomes fuel. Useful, but not healthy.”
They meant well, she knew that. And they weren’t wrong. But their voices felt distant, like they were behind glass.
Y/n kept her focus on the map, her eyes tracing the glowing lines of data until one word caught her attention.
Park Row.
Her chest tightened.
The screen’s glow reflected off her face as her mind drifted, unbidden, back to the first time she’d met him, back when they were just two rough-edged kids trying to make sense of a city that didn’t care about them.
Rain. Gotham always bled rain.
It ran down cracked brick and crooked fire escapes, hissed against steaming manhole covers, and turned every alleyway into a mirror of broken light. Somewhere far off, a siren wailed, not an emergency anymore, just background noise.
Y/n kept her hood low as she moved though the narrow streets splashing through shallow puddles. The city smelled like wet concrete and rust, the perfume of the city. She was fifteen, maybe sixteen, but years didn’t mean much when every day stretched twice as long as it should.
Her backpack hung heavy on one shoulder, everything she owned was in that backpack, some shirts, one jacket that doesn’t give her much warmth to begin with, food she’d managed to swipe, tools she shouldn’t own, and a tattered book she hadn’t been able to put down. She always told herself she wasn’t looking for trouble. The problem was that in Gotham, trouble usually found you first.
That’s when she heard it.
A low, rhythmic clack, metal on metal, like someone working fast and desperate.
She slowed, instinct prickling. Most people who made noise like that here didn’t last long. Curiosity won, as it always did. She edged closer to the mouth of an alley between an old tire shop and graffiti-covered bakery.
There he was.
A boy, maybe her age, crouched beside the shell of a stripped-down car. He had a wrench between her teeth and grease on his knuckles. The hood of his jacket was pulled up, but she could still see his black hair.
He worked like someone who’d done it before, quick, efficient, eyes scanning the streets between movement.
She leaned against the brick wall and called out, “You’re either very confident or very stupid to be doing that out here.”
The wrench froze mid-twist.
He turned his head slowly, squinting at her from under the hood. “You planning to rob me, or just offer commentary?’
She smirked. “Maybe both.”
He snorted, turning back to the car. “Then get in line. The commentary’s free, though.”
She stepped closer, tilting her head. “You know that engine’s worthless, right? Block’s cracked.”
He glanced up, unimpressed. “Yeah genius, I’m not after the block. The alternator still has resale.”
That caught her off guard. Not the stealing part, everyone in this neighborhood stole, but the way he said it. Calm. Calculated. Like someone who’d been at this long enough to treat it like a job, not a crime.
She crouched beside him, watching him pry the loose part. “So you sell them to the chop shop on the 9th?”
His hands paused again. “..You talk too much.”
“And you’re bad at hiding things.”
He gave her a sideways look, half amusement, half irritation. “You always this nosy?”
“Only when I’m bored.”
He smirked, wiping a streak of oil across his wrist. “You don’t look bored. You look like someone deciding whether to steal this part from me after I do the work.”
She shrugged. “Depends on how much it’s worth.”
That made him laugh, a short, rough sound that didn’t belong to someone who laughed often. “You’ve got nerves.”
“You’ve got an attitude,” she countered.
“Guess that’s fair.”
For a while, the only sound was rain dripping through the broken gutter and the scrape of metal as he freed the alternator. When he finally pried it loose, he sat back and exhaled.
She nodded at it. “That’ll get you, what, fifty?”
“Sixty if I sell it to the right guy,” he said, standing. “Eighty if I threaten to break his thumbs.”
Her brow rose. “You don’t look like the type.”
He grinned, sharp and confident. “That’s why it works.”
They stared at each other for a second, the streetlight catching the rain between them.There was something about him, not just the confidence, but the hunger behind it. The same one she saw in her own reflection some nights.
She nodded toward the part. “You should clean it before you sell it. Chop shops pay more if it doesn’t look like it was dragged through a sewer.”
He frowned slightly, suspicious. “Why are you helping me?’
“Maybe I like being right.”
“Or maybe you want a cut.”
She smiled faintly. “If I wanted a cut, you’d already owe me.”
That made him laugh again, a real laugh this time. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, tucking the part inside. “You got a mouth on you, you know that?”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”
He hesitated, looking at her like he wanted to say something else, maybe thanks, maybe who are you, but he stopped himself. Instead, he just gave a short nod. “See you around, nosy.”
“See you around, thief.”
He started walking towards the end of the alley. She almost let him go. Almost.
Then she called out, “Hey, you missed the screws on the back bracket.”
He turned halfway, saw the loose metal glinting under the rain, and snorted. “Guess you really were paying attention.”
“Told you,” she said. “I like being right.”
He gave a small salute with two fingers. “Then I’ll make sure you’re wrong next time.”
She smiled, small but real. “Good luck with that.”
He disappeared into the fogged streetlights, and for the first time in the long while, she hoped that “next time” actually meant something.
The city never really slept, it just changed shifts.
A few days had passed since that alleyway, and Y/n had almost convinced herself she wouldn't see him again. People like that, sharp, restless, always looking over their shoulder, they didn’t stick around.
Y/n sat on the back steps of an old laundromat, cross-legged, and a half-eaten burger balanced on her knee. A battered paperback was open in her hands, the pages warped from water damage. She chewed absentmindedly while eyes skimmed the same sentences for the fifth time.
She didn’t notice him right away.
Jason came from the corner of the street, hood up, the same jacket, backpack slung low. He had the same walk, fast, restless, like he was always ready to bolt. He spotted her before she saw him, and for a second, he looked like he was debating whether to say anything.
“- that a girl in Gotham, in possession of a half-eaten burger, must be in want of better company,” a voice said from the side.
Y/n looked up, halfway between a frown and a smirk.Jason leaned against the lamppost like he’s been there a while, hood up, rain dampening the end of his hair. Same jacket. Same grin. Same defiance carved into every movement.
She closed the book halfway. “You stalking me, thief?”
He shrugged. “I was just strolling through the neighborhood, figured I’d check if you were still alive?”
“Disappointed?”
“Little bit,” he said easily, walking over. “You’re taking up my favorite reading spot.”
She blinked at him. “You read?” He scoffed, sitting beside her without asking. “What, you think I can’t?”
“I think you don’t.”
He reached over and plucked the book from her hands before she could stop him. “Pride and Prejudice, huh? Didn’t take you for a romance reader.”
“Didn’t take you for a thief with opinions on literature,” she shot back.
He flipped through the pages with practiced ease, stopping at the dog-eared section. His thumb lingered there, expression softening just a little.“Elizabeth Bennet. She’s stubborn as hell,” he said, almost to himself. “Keeps pretending she doesn’t care what Darcy thinks, even when she does.”
Y/n titled her head. “So you’ve actually read it.”
He smirked. “Maybe a few times.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he said, leaning back against the wall, “it’s about pride. People pretending they don’t give a damn when they actually do. About being too proud to say what you feel because you’re scared it’ll make you weak.”
That surprised her. Not the intelligence, she’d already seen that the way he worked, but the honesty.
She tried to hide it behind sarcasm. “So you’re Darcy, then?”
He gave a mock bow. “Clearly. Tragic, misunderstood, devastatingly charming."
She snorted. “Try rude, arrogant, and think he’s smarter than everyone else.”
He grinned wider. “You’re not wrong. Guess that makes you Lizzy Bennet.”
“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “She’s way too nice.”
He watched her quietly for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “Nah. You’ve got her beat. She at least let people in eventually.”
The words landed heavier than either of them expected. Y/n looked away, pretending to take a bite of her burger. “Yeah, well. Letting people in gets you robbed or dead in this city.”
Jason nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching downward. “Tell me about it.”
They sat there for a while, sharing the silence that existed between sirens and thunder. It wasn’t awkward, more like they both understood that quiet meant safety.
After a while, Y/n said, “You know, it’s kind of a stupid book when you think about it.”
He looked at her sideways. “How’s that?”
“It’s about two people who spend the entire story denying what’s right in front of them. All that pride, all that pretending, and for what? They just waste time.”
He hummed. “Maybe that’s the point. Sometimes pretending is easier than admitting what you want. Safer, even.”
“Spoken like someone who’s done a lot of pretending,” she said softly.
Jason smiled without humor. “Yeah. Guess we both have.”
For a while, the rain held off. The city noises faded, leaving only the hum of old streetlights.
He reached for the burger, took half without asking, and bit into it.
“Hey!” She protested.
“Payment for the literary discussion,,” he said with his mouth full. “And for not stealing your bag.”
“You couldn’t even carry it.”
He laughed, that same rough, real sound from the alley. “You’re probably right.
She leaned back against the wall again, watching him finish the last bite like it was the first proper meal he’d had in days. For some reason, it didn’t feel wrong to share.
When he stood, he pulled his hood tighter against the drizzle. “Guess I’ll see you around again, nosy.”
She smiled faintly. “Guess you might.”
He started walking away, hands in his pockets. A few steps later, her voice stopped him.
“Hey,” she called out.
He turned, one eyebrow raised.
“I’m Y/n L/n.”
He blinked, caught off guard for the first time since she’d met him. A small smile tugged at his lips.
“Jason,” he said simply. “Jason Todd.”
They looked at each other for a beat, two ghosts of Gotham, rain catching in the space between them.
“See you around, Jason,” she said.
He gave a short nod. “Count on it.”
They’d met a handful of times after that day. Never planned, but never by accident either. Sometimes it was at the same alley where they first crossed paths, Jason elbows-deep in an engine, Y/n pretending she just “happened to be walking by.”
Other times it was at the edge of a job: a quick exchange of stolen food, a pack of batteries, a heads-up about which corner gangs were staking out that week.
It wasn’t just survival with company, there was a friendship in this as well.
They’d learned how the other worked. Jason had a knack for gettin things done, fast, clean, and with just enough attitude to keep people guessing if he was kidding before he punched them. Y/n, on the other hand, had patience. She knew when to wait, when to listen, and when to strike.
Together, they were trouble. Quiet, efficient, clever trouble.
And for a while, that was enough.
The last time she saw him, before everything changed, it was just past midnight. They were sitting on the roof of an old convenience store, sharing stale chips and half a bottle of cheap soda.
Jason was leaned back, one knee up, eyes on the skyline. “You ever think about getting out of here?’ he asked suddenly.
She frowned. “Out of Gotham?”
“Yeah. I dunno. Somewhere that doesn’t smell like rain and regret.”
She laughed softly. “You’d last a week before you would start to complain about missing the noise.”
“Maybe,” he said, smiling faintly. “But it’s nice to think about.”
He didn’t tell her what he was planning to do that night.
Didn’t tell her he was going to steal the tires off the Batmobile.
So when he disappeared for weeks, no note, no hint, nothing, she assumed what Gotham kids always assumed.
He was gone. One way or another.
She tried not to care. She really did. But every time she passed the old pawn shop or the diner where he’d swipe fries from her plate, her chest tightened just a little.
Until the night she saw him again.
Y/n sat on the edge of an old water tower, legs dangling, half-eaten pizza beside her, city lights bleeding through the flog. It was quiet, too quiet, and that’s when she heard it.
A faint whoosh, a whisper of a cape cutting through the air.
She looked up sharply, scanning the rooftops, and froze when she saw him. Red. Green. Yellow cape catching in the wind. Robin.
Her stomach twisted.
Of course, of course one of Batman’s little shadows would show up now, when she’d finally gotten used to the quiet.
She crossed her arms as the boy landed a few feet away, moving with the kind of practiced grace only training, or arrogance, could buy.
She blinked, forcing her expression into bored indifference. “Wow. The Boy Wonder himself. What’d I do, steal one too many candy bars?”
He tilted his head slightly. “I’ve heard some things,” he said casually, pacing a few steps closer. “Two teens working together, smart ones, fast. Always one step ahead. But tonight I only see one.”
She bit back a smile, playing along. “Yeah? Maybe the other found a better gig. Heard rumors he ditched town to become a stripper or something.”
That stopped him. His shoulders stiffened, mouth twitching like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or yell. “A stripper?”
“Hey, I don’t judge career choices,” she said, smirking. “Good money if you can dance.”
For a second, there was just silence between them, the kind of hum before lighting strikes. Then his voice softened,sharper at the edges.
“That’s funny,” he said. “Because the guy I heard about wouldn’t have just left. Not without saying goodbye.”
Something in her chest twisted, but she refused to show it. “Yeah, well. Guess he wasn’t the guy I thought he was.”
He signed, dropping the act. “Y/n..”
Something about the way he said her name, the way it cracked slightly, made her freeze.
Then before she could react, he reached up and tugged the domino mask off.
“Jason,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he said, quietly, tucking the mask in his glove. “It’s me.”
For a moment, she just stared, trying to reconcile the boy who used to steal car parts and fries with the one standing in front of her in red and green armor.
“You really thought,” she said slowly, voice rising, “that I wouldn't recognize you just because you’re playing dress-up?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking half sheepish, half relieved. “Kinda hoped it’d throw you off for a second.”
She shook her head, incredulous. “Jason Todd in spandex. Gotham really has lost its mind.”
That got a small, embarrassed laugh out of him, but it didn’t last.
“You didn’t tell me anything,” she said after a beat, voice quieter now. “You just disappeared. No note, no sigh, nothing. I thought you were dead.”
Jason’s grin faltered. He looked down at the rooftop, rainwater collecting at his boots. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t know how to say goodbye. Or if I’d even get the chance.”
“Goodbye?” she repeated, anger flaring under her ribs. “I didn’t need a goodbye, I just needed to know you weren’t lying in a ditch somewhere!”
He winced. “I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. Bru…Batman, he doesn’t exactly hand out business cards.”
Her expression softened, but just barely. “You still could’ve found a way.”
Jason looked up at her then, eyes wide, guilt and pride warring behind them. “I wanted to, I swear I did. But I thought..I thought maybe if I did this, if I became someone, then maybe I could come back and show you that I’ve made it out.”
Y/n’s shoulders dropped. “You didn’t have to leave to prove that.”
Silence again. Gotham stretched around them, endless, loud, alive,
Finally, she let out a shaky laugh. “A vigilante, huh? I should’ve known. You always did have a hero complex.”
Jason crackled a small grin. “And you’ve still got that mouth.”
“Someone has to keep you humble,” she shot back.
He chuckled, then stepped forward, holding out a gloved hand. “So what now? You gonna tell on me, or we pretend this is just another night?”
She stared at his hand for a moment, then smirked and took it. “I don’t snitch, Boy wonder,” she said in a mocking way. “But next time you disappear on me, I’m stealing your cape.”
Jason grinned. “Deal.”
“Wait-” Y/n said quickly.
He froze. Looking like a deer caught in headlights.
Y/n crossed her arms. “You said Bruce.”
Jason stiffened. “..No, I didn’t.”
“Yeah, you did.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing just a little. “You said Bruce doesn’t hand out business cards.”
Jason blinked once. Twice. The curse under his breath gave it away completely. “Shit.”
Her brow arched. “Bruce Wayne?”
He froze completely this time. “What-no. I didn’t. That’s not-”
“Oh my god! It could have been any Bruce but your reaction tells me I’m right.” A grin tugged at her mouth, disbelief mixing with delight. “You’re telling me Bruce Wayne is Batman? Billionaire playboy, too many cars, dated half of the city, that Bruce Wayne?”
Jason’s face was priceless. “Okay, first of all, you didn’t hear that. Second, no, I’m not confirming anything.”
“You literally just did,” she said, laughing. “You disappeared for months, came back in spandex, and accidentally exposed Gotham’s biggest secret? You really haven’t changed.”
Jason groaned, running a gloved hand over his face. “He’s gonna kill me.”
“Oh, relax,” she teased. “What’s he gonna do, take away your patrol privileges?”
That made him look up. “It’s not like that.”
She grinned. “Right. So, what, he’s your boss? Mentor? New sugar daddy?”
“Y/n!”
She cracked up laughing, wiping at her eyes. “I’m kidding!...mostly.”
Jason crossed his arms, trying to look annoyed, but his mouth betrayed him, the corner twitched. “He’s…kind of like my dad now, alright?”
Her laughter softened, fading into something quieter. "Your..dad."
He shrugged, eyes darting away. “It’s not what you think. It’s not, like..easy. But he gave me a place to stay. Training. A chance to do something with that matters.”
For a second, she just stared at him, this is the same kid she met under a broken streetlight, now standing there in red and green, looking like the city hadn’t beaten him for once.
Then she smirked, because softness was dangerous and teasing was safer. “So what you’re saying is.. you’ve got money now?”
Jason blinked “..What?’
“Come one, don’t play dumb,” she said, leaning back against the railing. “You went from stealing to living in a mansion. You’re basically loaded.”
He tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t help it. “You think that’s how it works?”
“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” she said with a shrug. “You're a trust fund vigilante now. Congratulations.”
“God, you’re impossible.”
“And you still owe me for that last job,” she said, grinning. “So maybe you can finally pay me back in cash instead of sandwiches.’
Jason laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “You haven’t changed.”
“Neither have you,” she said softly.
He glanced at her, and for a moment, neither of them joked.
Then she broke the silence, because one of them had to. “You could’ve told me, you know. That you were alive.”
Jason’s jaw tightened. “I wanted to. But.. I couldn’t. It wasn't just me anymore.”
She nodded, eyes on the ground. “Yeah. Guess I get it.”
“Y/n..”
She looked up. “What?’
He hesitated, then smirked faintly. “You’re really not gonna tell anyone, right?”
She gave him a look. “Jason, I wouldn’t sell you out if I wanted to.” She shrugged. “Besides, what kind of idiot would I be if I got Gotham’s most dangerous guy pissed at me?”
Jason chuckled, shaking his head. “Guess I owe you one.”
“You owe me more than one,” she said, picking up her slice of pizza again. “And next time you vanish, I’m tracking you down myself. Even if I have to break into Wayne Manor to do it.”
He blinked. “You woudln’t”
She smirked. “Watch me.”
Jason laughed again, really laughed this time, before pulling his mask back on.
He turned towards the edge of the roof, glancing back once more. “See you around, Nosy.”
“Don’t forget about me, Stripper.” she said, a sense of hope in her eyes.
Y/n blinked, the flash of memory fading as a wave of nausea rolled through her. The lights of the Batcave seemed too bright, too sharp, and every hum of the monitors and machinery grated against her skull. She pressed a hand against the edge of the table, trying to ground herself, but the room tilted slightly, the world pulsing faintly at the edges.
Dick groaned behind her, one hand braced on the railing, the other against his stomach. “Ugh.. yeah. Definitely not feeling right,” he muttered, his voice rough. His usual confident composure had slipped; his face was pale, the dark circles under his eyes deeper than they should’ve been.
Bruce’s eyes, sharp as ever, immediately shifted to the vitals monitor. His brow furrowed, an undoubted layer of sweat on his forehead, shaky hands hovering over the controls. “Heart rates elevated. Blood pressure is irregular. Mild tremors. Nausea. Both of you?” His tone was calm but the tension underneath was unmistakable.
Y/n swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles whitened. “Yeah… something’s..off. Feels like anxiety is being poured into my veins.” She brushed damp strands of hair from her face, realizing her suit was still damp, her jacket slick with something acid. The smell hit her, metal and something sharper, chemical.
Bruce’s jaw tightened. “Containment. Now. Let’s not waste time. We don’t know what this is, but everyone stays here until we do.”
Alfred appeared at his side almost instantly, calm but brisk. “This way, please.”
The process started slowly, methodical, ritual, almost.
The three of them moved towards the quarantine chamber, especially built for emergencies like this, a glass-sealed room off the main hub of the cave. Inside, the air was filtered, clean. The hum of the containment system replaced the constant mechanical echo of the main cave, muting the world down to their breathing and the faint hum of the ventilation.
Y/n tugged off her utility belt, setting it down beside the bench with a dull clink. She pulled off the armor plating next, setting each piece carefully in its tray for sterilization. The thin undersuit beneath clung her skin, sticky with sweat and faint traces of gas residue. When she peeled it off, the chill of the filtered air made her shiver.
Beneath, she wore only a sports bra and compression shorts, standard for the suit’s underlayer, but now they felt like nothing more than thin fabric between her and the weight of the night.
“Residue’s visible,” Alfred said quietly, scanning her arm with a handheld monitor. “You’ll need a full rinse. Hair too.”
“Yeah,” Y/n muttered. “I can smell it.”
Beside her, Dick was already stripping out of his suit, grimacing at the faint shimmer of chemical sheen on the fabric. “Feels like it’s under my skin,” he said, voice low. “Can’t shake it.”
“You will,” Bruce said, removing his own gauntlets with steady precision. “Just follow protocol.”
Y/n snorted weakly. “Of course you’re calm.”
He didn’t answer, though the muscle in his jaw twitched.
When their suits were off, Alfred handed each of them sealed sterilization packs- towels, cleaning solution, clean clothes folded neatly inside. "Shower. Make sure to scrub your hair thoroughly, Miss Y/n and Master Dick. The toxin bonds easily to oil.”
Y/n gave a humorless laugh. “So, spa night in hell.”
“Something like that,” Dick muttered, and for a second, the corner of his mouth twitched.
She stepped into the rinse chamber first. The spray was lukewarm, sterile, the kind that stripped everything, sweat, grime, comfort. She leaned forward, letting the water run over her face and down her spine, rising until the metallic tang began to fade. Her hands trembled slightly, but she told herself it was just adrenaline wearing off.
When she stepped out, she caught sight of herself in the reflective panel, red-rimmed eyes, soaked hair plastered to her cheeks, bruises shadowing her ribs. For a second, she saw that same girl from all those years ago, the same girl that had to fight to survive.
She pulled the clean shirt over her head, a loose black one that smelled faintly of detergent and nothing else.
Dick came out a minute later, running a towel through his dripping hair. “You look human again,” he said softly.
“Barely.” Y/n mumbled under her breath.
Bruce joined them last, now in gray sweats and a dark long-sleeve. Without the armor, he looked older, still strong, but worn. Human.
For a while, the only sound was the low hum of the air filters and the beeping of the vitals monitor.
Barbara’s voice came through the intercom. “All right, got the samples. I’ll run a composition test, but it’s probably Crane’s formula with modifications. Give me an hour.”
Bruce nodded once towards the mic. “Let us know the second you have anything. “
“Copy that.”
Y/n sat on the bench, towel still around her shoulders, fingers rubbing the edges of the fabric. She could feel it, the faint pulse of tension in the room. Bruce sat across from her, posture straight but unreadable. Dick fidgeted beside her, tapping his heel against the tile in an uneven rhythm.
Minutes dragged into hours. Barbara’s updates came and went, small pieces, fragments of something they didn’t yet understand. “There’s a secondary compound,” she said at one point. “It’s reacting with the bloodstream. The Joker’s modified this formula, he added something corrosive. Not fatal, but.. it’ll make you sick. Could take hours or days to clear it.”
The silence again.
Y/n leaned her elbows on her knees, staring at the floor. “So what? We just wait?”
“Yes,” Bruce said simply. “Until we know more.”
Dick exhaled through his nose, frustration seeping through. “We can still work from here, cross-check toxin traces, run Joker’s last known-”
“No.”
That one word carried enough weight to silence the room.
Bruce didn’t raise his voice, but there was steel in it. “We’re compromised. I won’t risk further contamination.”
Dick looked ready to argue, but Bruce’s expression stopped him cold.
Y/n sat back, her jaw tightening. “So we just sit here and do nothing?”
Bruce didn’t look at her. “We wait.”
The hum of the chamber filled the space where an answer should’ve been.
Y/n’s patience, thin as it was, finally cracked. “Waiting’s what got him taken,” she muttered.
Bruce’s head turned. “Y/n-”
She met his gaze now, voice sharper than she meant. “Last time I left him out of my sight, you got him kidnapped and killed.”
The words cut through the sterile air like broken glass.
Dick’s head snapped toward her, face pale. Alfred, who had been quietly taking notes near the console, froze.
Even Y/n seemed to realize too late what she’d said. But it was out, raw, venomous, and trembling with grief she hadn’t had the strength to name.
Bruce didn’t move. Didn’t blink. The silence stretched long enough for her to hear her own heart pounding.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than she’d ever heard it. “You think I don’t replay that every night?”
Her throat tightened, the anger faltering for just a heartbeat, but the toxin still whispered at the back of her skull, twisting emotion into something uglier.
She turned away, jaw set. Dick rubbed the back of his neck, eyes moving between them. “The toxin’s messing with us,” he said softly. “Let’s not feed it.”
Y/n didn’t reply. She just pressed her palms together, staring at the reflection in the glass wall ahead of her.
Bruce stayed silent a moment longer before finally saying, “We’ll find him. Alive.”
Something in his tone made her believe it, even through the haze of sickness and fear.
And though none of them said it out loud, each of them knew the same truth. The joker hadn’t just poisoned their bodies. He’s poisoned the cracks between them.
The hours bled together, measured only by the hum air system and the low flicker of the monitors behind the glass. The world outside the quarantine chamber might as well have stopped existing.
Barbara’s voice came and went in quiet bursts, clinical updates from the lab. Alfred had long since retreated to prepare whatever nutrient concoction he thought would keep them steady. Bruce hadn’t moved from the console, and Y/n sat slumped on the bench, head tilted back, staring at the lights overhead like they might blink her out of the moment.
And Dick..
Dick just sat there, motionless, pretending to breathe normally.
His body felt heavy, the air thick in his lungs. The toxin burned in quiet waves, a dull sickness that crawled through his veins and set every nerve on edge. But it wasn’t just that. It was something older. Something that had been there long before the Joker’s poison.
He could still see Jason’s face. Not the footage, not the flicker of him being dragged through the shadows, but the kid he used to know. The one who trailed him around the cave years ago, trying to hide his excitement every time Bruce had called him partner.
Dick had told himself, over and over, that he was proud of Jason.
He was.
But beneath that pride was something harder to name, a twisting ache that came with giving up his place before he even figured out what it meant to belong.
When Jason died, when the world broke the first time, Dick had stepped up. He’d smiled for Alfred. Held Bruce together when he refused to grieve. Covered for Tim when Bruce started training him too soon. He’d been the glue. The peacemaker. The one who made the silence livable.
And no one noticed when it started to hurt.
“Dick?”
Y/n’s voice broke through the fog. Soft, careful.
He blinked, realizing his hands were shaking. “Yeah,” he said automatically, voice low and rough. “Just..dizzy.”
She frowned but didn’t push. She’d seen that look before, the one where he pretended to be fine because someone had to.
Bruce was typing something again, the steady clack of keys filling the silence, It was rhythmic, too even. A man hiding behind function.
Dick let out a breath and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You ever think maybe we’re all just trying to fix things that were never supposed to be fixed?” he asked quietly.
Bruce didn’t answer.
Y/n looked over, her expression unreadable.
He gave a small, bitter laugh. “Jason used to say I sounded like a guidance counselor. Guess he wasn’t wrong.”
“Dick..” Y/n’s voice was gentler now.
He shook his head. “I was supposed to keep the peace, you know? Be the one who made everything okay. When Bruce shut down after Jason, when Alfred tried to hold the house together, when you got pulled into this mess, someone had to keep the lights on.” He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “And I did. I did it so well everyone forgot I was grieving too.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
Y/n’s chest tightened. She hesitated for a second, then slowly, quietly, she reached out. Her hand hovered above his shoulder before finally resting there, gentle but solid. The warmth of her touch broke through the static that had built around him.
He didn’t move at first, just stared down at his hands. Then his breath stuttered, a silent tremor of something between exhaustion and release.
Her thumb brushed lightly against the fabric of his shirt. “You didn’t have to hold it alone,” she said, voice low.
He gave a tired smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Didn’t I? Someone had to be the grown-up. Someone had to look at Bruce and not see a man who got his son killed.”
That last part hung in the air. Heavy. Real.
Bruce turned his head slightly, eyes shadowed. “You think that’s what I am?”
“I think it’s what you think you are,” Dick said quietly. “And I’ve been trying to prove you wrong ever since.”
The toxin didn’t make him cruel, like it did to Y/n, no it made him honest.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was fragile. Bruce finally stood, the chair scraping back softly. He didn’t go to him, not quite, but his voice had softened. “You won’t lose him again.”
Dick looked up, red-rimmed eyes searching his father’s face for something steady.
Y/n’s hand slid from his shoulder to rest briefly against his back, the motion grounding him, an unspoken promise that he wasn’t as alone as he thought. “We won’t,” she said.
Bruce hesitated, then nodded once, a small, fractured promise. “We get him back. No matter what it takes.”
The words didn’t fix anything. They weren’t supposed to. But for the first time in hours, the tension shifted from guilt to purpose.
Barbara’s voice broke through the intercom again. “Antidote’s stabilizing. Another hour, maybe two.”
Dick leaned back against the glass, closing his eyes. The nausea had dulled, but the ache didn’t. Still, for the first time since the toxin hit, the air didn’t feel suffocating.
He exhaled slowly. “Guess we wait.”
Y/n nodded. “Guess we do.”
Bruce said nothing, just watched the two of them, the family he kept trying to and falling to protect, and silently vowed that this time, he wouldn't let the story end the same way.
The air in the quarantine chamber had settled into something quieter, less hostile, but still heavy. The worst of the toxin’s physical effects had faded, leaving behind a kind of emotional exhaustion that none of them quite knew what to do with.
Y/n sat cross-legged on the bench, her head tipped back against the glass wall, eyes half-lidded. The filtered light of the cave reflected faintly against her skin, softening the edges that battle and toxin had hardened.
Across from her, Dick was leaning against the other wall, legs stretched out, staring at nothing in particular. Bruce had gone silent again, lost somewhere in the console’s glow, the hum of machinery almost a lullaby.
For a long while, no one spoke. It wasn't uncomfortable, just the silence that comes after the storm.
Then Dick’s voice broke through, quiet but deliberate.
“Hey,” he said. “Do you remember how we met?”
Y/n’s eyes opened slowly. For a second, she just blinked at him, processing the question. Then a small, faint smile tugged at her lips. “How could I forget?” she murmured. “It wasn't exactly.. a normal introduction.”
Dick huffed out a laugh, the sound dry but genuine. “Yeah. Not even close.”
She looked down, twisting the towel between her hands, and when she spoke again, her voice softened, carrying a weight of nostalgia beneath the exhaustion. “God, that night feels like another lifetime ago.”
And just like that, the memory came flooding back.
The night was bitterly cold, the kind that sank through your clothes and into your bones, neon lights flickering through the haze of smog.
Y/n moved like a shadow between the buildings, hood pulled low, hands shaking only slightly as she pried open the back window of the town house. It was an easy target, one of those upper-end estates near Bristol that liked to pretend Gotham’s rot didn’t reach them.
Her heart hammered as she slipped inside, boots landing soundlessly on the polished floor. The place was too clean, too quiet. She hated that kind of quiet, it reminded her of everything she didn’t have. She made her way toward the study, where she knew the safe was hidden. She had learned over the past few months to look for the desk that’s used and not decorated.
Her fingers trembled as she picked the lock on the small wall safe, the faint click echoing like thunder in her chest. She didn’t steal for fun. She stole because eating was optional when you didn’t have someone looking out for you, and Jason hadn’t been around as much lately.
He still visited when he could, always smiling, always trying to hide the bruises under his new Robin suit. But she saw them. And every time he left, she felt a little colder.
He’d promised to look out for her.And she’d promised not to get caught.
A faint sound snapped her out of her thoughts, metal shifting, barely audible, but definitely there. She froze, instinct kicking in.
Then a voice, smooth but steady. “Breaking and entering’s a felony, you know.”
Her body moved before her mind did, she spun, throwing a knife toward the sound.
A blur of blue and black caught it midair.
He stepped into the light, a lean but solid figure, his suit darker than the shadows around him, a glowing blue emblem stretching across his chest. His mask caught the faint moonlight through the windows.
Nightwing.
Her heart slammed once, hard, but she didn’t run.
Not yet.
“Nice throw,” he said lightly, turning the knife in his hand before flipping it so the handle faced her. “But next time, maybe don’t throw your only weapon.”
She took a step back, calculating. “You don’t know that’s my only weapon.”
He titled his head. “Fair point.”
Her minded raced, exit routes, timing, distractions. He hadn’t cuffed her yet, which meant he wasn’t sure what she was. Not a threat, not yet. She could work with it.
He took another step closer. “What’s your name?”
“Why? You're gonna write me a citation?”
“Depends,” he said, that faint smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “If you’re just stealing jewelry, we can talk. If you’re working for someone worse, we’ve a problem.”
She didn’t answer.Didn’t flinch.
Instead, she straightened up, that stubborn spark lighting behind her eyes. “You gonna turn me in?”
“Depends on the answer to my next question.”
“Which is?”
He nodded towards her hoodie. “Why steal from the people who won’t even notice what they lost?”
That caught her off guard, enough to make her hesitate. “Because the ones who will notice and call the cops faster.”
Dick laughed softly. “Smart.”
“I try.”
He studied her now, really studied her, the way she stood ready to bolt but didn’t, the careful way she watched him, calculating, alert. There was something familiar about her, not her face, but her energy. A restless sort of defiance mixed with hurt.
And then it clicked.Jason.
He’d talked about this girl all the time, smart, stubborn, and survived on her own. “You’d like her,” Jason had said. “She’s sharper than me. Probably smarter too.”
Dick’s tone softened. “You’re good at this. The timing, the route, the silence. You trained yourself?”
Her chin lifted a little. “No one else was gonna.”
“What about your family?”
The flicker of pain in her eyes was enough.
Dick signed quietly, running a gloved hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not here to ruin your night. But this-” he gestured to the bag she’d slung over her shoulder, ready to be filled, “- this doesn’t end well. Not for people like you.”
“People like me?” she echoed, bristling.
“The one who thinks Gotham owes them something. It doesn’t”
She stepped forward, glare sharp. “Then I’ll take it myself.”
For a moment, silence. Just the rain tapping against the window.
He looked at her, not the thief, but the kid underneath, all anger and exhaustion and fight. “You sound like someone I know.”
“Yeah?” She shot back. “They a criminal too?”
He smiled faintly. “Depends on the week.”
They’d spent hours that night, him trying to talk her down, her trying to outsmart him. She’d slipped away once, nearly vanished through the fire escape before he caught up again, preaching about her like a shadow.
“Tell me something,” he said finally, crouched on the edge of the roof. “Why not leave Gotham? You’re smart. You could make it anywhere else.”
“Because Gotham made me,” she said simply.
And for some reason, that stopped him cold.
When she finally disappeared into the alleys, he didn’t chase her. He let her go, trusting a gut feeling he couldn’t quite explain.
By the time he got back to the cave later that night, Bruce was gone and Alfred was asleep.Jason was there, sitting on the stairs, flipping through a throwing knife.
“Rough night?” Jason asked.
Dick leaned against the railing. “Met a girl.”
Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow, and she didn’t run away?”
Dick sighed and shook his head lightly.
Jason frowned, suspicion creeping in. “What’d she look like?”
“About your age,” Dick said carefully. “Smarter than she should be. Keeps her guard up. Surviving the only way she knows how.”
Jason’s lips twitched like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. He looked down at the knife again, flipping it once, twice, before saying softly. “Yeah. Sounds familiar.”
The memory faded like smoke, leaving the only hum of the quarantine chamber again.
Y/n rubbed the back of her neck, smiling faintly. “You were annoying as hell, you know that?”
Dick chuckled, eyes soft. “And you were stubborn. I couldn’t decide whether to cuff you or recruit you.”
“You kind of did both,” she muttered.
He grinned. “Worked out in the end.”
She looked away for a moment, the faintest warmth breaking the heaviness of the day. “You didn’t turn me in that night.”
“No,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “Didn’t seem right. You weren’t stealing because you wanted to hurt anyone. You were surviving. And… I saw Jason in you. The way you fought. The way you didn’t quit.”
Her expression softened. “He talked about me, didn’t he?” she said with a smug face.
“More than you’d think,” Dick admitted. “Said you’d outsmart me if we ever met.”
Y/n smiled faintly, a ghost of something bittersweet. “Guess he wasn’t wrong.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
There was grief there still, thick, raw, and unspoken, but beneath it was something else. A reminder of how much history they shared, how deep the roots of this family ran, tangled and painful and real.
Bruce sat nearby, silent but listening. He didn’t interrupt, but the faintest shadow of a smile crossed his face, a rare, fleeting softness that flickered, one she hadn’t seen in a few years.
Y/n caught the movement and tilted her head. “You remember the first time I showed up here?”
Bruce’s eyes met hers, steady. “You climbed through the training hall vent system. Triggered every motion sensor in the east wing.”
Dick snorted. “Yeah. I remember that. We all thought it was a break-in.”
“I was breaking in,” Y/n said, grinning now. “Jason told me that I couldn’t find my way in here, so I did.”
Dick shook his head, the faintest laugh escaped him. “You nearly gave Alfred a heart attack.”
“Worth it,” she muttered, lips curling into something that was almost like a real smile.
For the first time since the toxin, the air in the quarantine chamber didn’t feel suffocating. The tension had softened into something lighter, nostalgia mixed with a quiet ache.
Bruce leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “He trusted you,” he said simply. “Jason. More than most people.”
Y/n sat with her elbows on her knees, fingers twisting the towel in her hands. She took a slow breath, steadying the shake in her chest. “Bruce,” she said softly.
He didn’t answer at first, just the faintest tilt of his head as if acknowledging her without breaking the stillness.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said earlier.” Her voice cracked on the edges of the sentence. “About Jason. About.. everything.”
Bruce’s gaze finally shifted towards her, quiet and patient. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t press.
“I was angry,” she continued, eyes fixed on the floor. “But not at you. Not really. I think I just-” she shallowed hard “-needed somewhere to put it. The fear. The guilt. Everything I didn’t want to feel.”
Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “He’s the closest family that I've ever had. And I left him. I keep wondering if maybe this time, I should’ve stayed.”
Bruce’s expression softened, barely, but enough to show through the cracks of the stoic armor. He rose from his seat, slow and deliberate, and crossed the small distance between them. He didn’t say anything at first. Just lowered himself to sit beside her, shoulder to shoulder, the faint rustle of fabric filling the silence between them.
“When I lost him,” he said finally, his voice low, roughened by memory, “I thought the guilt would eat me alive. Every choice I made after was about trying to make sure it never happened again.”
He looked down at his hands, calloused, steady. “But it wasn’t your fault. It was mine, for thinking any of you needed to carry that alone.”
Y/n blinked hard, a quiet laugh breaking through the tightness in her throat. “You’re not great at this comforting thing, you know.”
A faint, wry smile touched Bruce’s mouth. “No. But I try.”
She turned her head slightly, watching him from the corner of her eye. “You do,” she said quietly. “Even if you don’t think you do.”
He met her gaze then, and for a moment the walls around him dropped. The Batman persona was gone, just Bruce sitting there, eyes tired but soft, the weight of fatherhood and leadership and loss visible in the lines of his eyes.
“You’ve always been harder on yourself than I ever could be,” he said gently. “You don’t need to apologize.”
Y/n smiled faintly, shaking her head. “Maybe not. But I wanted to.”
Bruce’s lips pressed into something between a frown and a smile. “Apology accepted.”
And then, quietly, he reached out and rested a hand against her forearm, a small, careful gesture, but steady. Grounding.
They sat like that for a moment, the hum of the filtered air surrounding them. The tension that once filled the chamber melted into something else, something warmer. Familiar. Family, even if it didn’t always look like it.
“Jason’s strong,” Bruce said after a beat, voice softer now. “He learned from the best of us. We’ll find him.”
Y/n leaned back slightly, letting her head rest against the glass, the faintest smile ghosting across her lips. She turned her head toward him, their eyes meeting again. “You always sound so sure.”
“That’s my job,” he said, and this time there was a flicker of something real in his expression, a quiet, almost shy amusement.
The moment lingered there, fragile and real, until the intercom crackled to life overhead.
Barbara’s voice came through, brisk but triumphant. “Good news. I’ve got the antidote. It should counteract the emotional side effect and neutralize the toxin completely. Alfred’s bringing it down now.”
Y/n exhaled, the tension in her shoulder finally releasing. “Guess the timing couldn’t be better.”
Dick straightened immediately. “Finally.”
The airlock door hissed open, and Alfred stepped in, wearing sterile gloves and carrying a metal tray with three vials of faintly luminescent green liquid.
“Fresh from Miss Gordon’s lab,” he said softly. “Administered intramuscularly. It may sting a touch.”
“Can’t be worse than the toxin,” Y/n muttered, rolling her sleeve up.
Alfred offered her a small smile as he handed her the syringe. “A lady of your constitution, I’m sure, will hardly notice.”
Bruce took his without hesitation, steady as ever. Dick followed suit, grimacing faintly as the needle pierced his arm. Y/n jabbed hers in with minimal ceremony, inhaling sharply as the antidote burned through her veins. Within seconds, the edge of nausea faded. The fog behind her eyes began to clear.
Dick flexed his fingers as color crept back into his face. “Well,” he rasped, “I guess that means we’re officially detoxed.”
“Officailly,” Y/n echoed, though her voice still carried a rasp. The air of the Batcave felt heavier than before, like the toxin had left behind more than chemical residue.
Bruce didn’t respond. He stood at the console, silent, eyes trained on the monitor like he could force it to give up answers through will alone.
Barbara’s voice came through the silence . “All right, everyone. Blood panels look normal again. You’re cleared for field activity, though I’d recommend keeping it light for a few hours.”
“Define light,” Dick muttered.
“Anything that doesn’t involve getting shot at,” Barbara deadpanned. “And speaking of- Tim and Damian just checked in. They’ve reviewed the dock cameras again in Jason’s apartment right before he left. There’s something you’ll want to see.”
The main screen flared to life. Grainy footage, timestamped just a couple of hours before he was taken.
It showed the same truck they’d seen before: grimy, faded paint, cartoon ice-cream faces warped with bullet holes. But this angle was new, captured from a traffic came across the docks.
The same man in the oversized coat, the one they both saw but this time he had a doubleganger with him, unloading boxes under the dim orange streetlights.
Y/n let out a deep, full of frustration sign. Barbara zoomed in. “Recognize him?”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Jason and I saw him in the photos I had taken.”
Dick turned toward her. “The guy from the photos?”
She nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the screen. “He was just standing there. Watching. Didn’t unload a thing, like now. It felt wrong.. theatrical. Jason said the same.”
Bruce’s jaw locked. “You both suspected Joker.”
“Yeah,” she said. “But we couldn’t prove it. Jason went back to his apartment to look through more footage, dig deeper. I told him to let me know if he did see anything suspicious, he wanted to go alone. He made it seem that it wasn’t a big deal. I should’ve pushed more. I should’ve gone with him.”
Dick glanced at her, expression soft but pained. “He went alone because he thought it was him, didn’t he?”
Y/n nodded. “He knew I’d go with him, even if it meant walking straight into a trap. If he really believed it was the Joker, he’d think the only way to keep me safe was to check it out alone.”
Silence. The kind that echoed.
Barbara sighed quietly. “Tim and Damian swept the truck. With no trace of Jason’s comms or prints, he must have used almost identical trucks to actually move Jason, and lure you guys into his trap. The other one to move his toxins and what not around. ”
Bruce leaned forward, his voice gravel-low. “Joker’s setting the stage again.”
Y/n folded her arms, fighting the tremor in her voice. “He’s not repeating history, he’s rewriting it. He wants us to watch him do it.”
The room seemed to pulse with quiet anger. The air hummed with the machines, but beneath it all was grief, fresh, raw, unfiltered.
Bruce’s fingers hovered over the console controls. “ Pull every camera within Gotham. Traffic lights, security systems, everything. He’s broadcasting fear, and he’ll want an audience."
Barbara nodded, the bright light of the screen reflecting in her glasses. “Already patching into the grid.”
Then the lights dimmed.
The Batcomputer’s screen flickered once, twice, then static.
The same one they saw in the amusement park.
Barabar’s voice cut out mid-sentence. “Wait.. someone’s hijacking the-”
“No,no.no,” Y/n whispered under her breath, panic flickered through her eyes.
A shrill, warped cackle filled the cave. It scraped across the walls like nails on a chalkboard.
Y/n’s breath caught in her chest. She knew that sound. Everyone in the room did.
The static bled into color.
The joker appeared on-screen, sitting beneath the harsh fluorescence of some forgotten warehouse. His grin stretched too wide, face streaked with grime and blood. He leaned toward the lens, eyes glinting green.
“Well, well, well” he drawled. “Looks like the family’s all tuned in! I do love a reunion show.”
Behind him, chains creaked. Shadow moved.
Joker clapped his hands once, loud enough to distort the audio. “I know, I know, you’re all worried sick about our mutual friend. So I thought I’d share the fun.”
He turned, gesturing grandly like a magician unveiling his final trick.
A boot.
Red. Scuffed. Bloody.
Y/n’s breath hitched.
Then the camera panned up, slow, deliberate, cruel.
Jason hung suspended from chains, his head lolled forward, hair matted with blood. His breath shallow, chest rising just enough to prove he was still alive. Bruises spreading dark and ugly underneath his eyes.
“Don’t be shy, Jason!” Joker cooed, grabbing a fistful of Jason’s hair and jerking his head up. The camera focused on his bruised face, one eye half-swollen shut.
“Smile for the family.”
Jason coughed, harsh, wet. When he lifted his head, the defiance in his eyes burned through the bruises. His voice was raw, but steady.
“Don’t..come for me,” he rasped, forcing the words out. “He wants you. Not me. Dont-”
The Joker yanked his hair tighter, slincing him with a mock pout. “Oh, don’t be dramatic, sunshine. You’ll ruin the surprise.”
“Oh, Batsy,” he purred,” you’re probably wondering what the rules are this time. Simple! You’ve got until sunrise. After that, well, let’s just say history repeats.”
He leaned so close to the camera that it caught the cracks in his makeup. His whisper came out distorted and intimate. “Don’t be late this time.”
The feed cuts to black.
The cave was silent except the hum of falling speakers.
Well! Poor Jason! Who would do such a thing? Pff not me 👀 Hope they find him in time.
Do you want to be on the taglist for any know updates? Let me know and you will be added 🩷
Or do you have a request or a question ? Always welcome
Or do you wanna show love or wanna beat me up for playing with your emotions? You know what button to hit 🤭😌
Summary: Did Y/n listen to anyone in the last chapter? I think you and I both know the answer to that. We might crack the case or something but at what cost? Also blüdhaven, who? In this universe we are a family and do shit together, I love controlling things.
Warning: Human traffic mentioned, cursing, flights, depression, little smut
Note: Heyyyyy!😬 I hope y'll don't hate me because it too way longer than intend. It was basically more than done a few weeks ago, just the ending but then my panic disorder was like hey do you remebere me? So I had to deal with that, then I can lost motivation to write till all the lovely messages came in. It’s way longer than last time! Basically double the chapter but a lot is happening too! Wish the idiots luck!
Yes there is a tiny bit smut in this chapter but you can skip it if you like, it doesn’t mess with the story so you won’t get confused if you do. But you will miss the good stuff 🤭🤭
(Also for the fine detail people, yes I aged up Damian, it will work better this way)
Like, reblog or leave a comment is very much appreciated!!!
The ceiling fan spun lazily above her, casting shadows across the room in slow, methodical sweeps. The air was still, warm with the kind of summer heat that clung to your skin and refused to let go. But it wasn’t the heat that kept her awake.
It was everything else.
Y/n lay flat on her back, staring upward, blinking at nothing. The room was quiet, not peaceful quiet, but the kind of silence that amplified the inside of her head. The kind that made every heartbeat feel like a warning. The dull ache on her cheek throbbed faintly whenever she shifted her pillow, a stubborn reminder of the night she hadn’t been careful.
She turned her head slowly towards the clock on her nightstand.
04:13 am
Of course.
She hadn’t slept. Again.
Not really. She’d drifted, maybe. Half an hour here, a few minutes there, always chased awake by her own brain kicking her back into consciousness like it was a punishment for daring to let go. Every time her body inched toward rest, her thoughts lit up like a fire alarm.
Why are you lying here?
What if something breaks while you’re gone?
What if they realize you’re not actually that useful?
Her sheets were twisted at her waist, her t-shirt damp at the collar from sweat that came with too many thoughts and not enough rest. Her shoulder pulled sharply beneath the damp fabric, when she adjusted her arm. The tiny burn there, barely visible but still raw, made her wince. She hadn’t wanted to look at it yet, but the weight of it pressed down alongside everything else. Her chest felt tight. Not from panic exactly, not that immediate, breathless type, but from the slow, grinding weight of guilt, pressure and everything she was supposed to be doing and wasn’t. Her muscles were coiled too tight to stretch. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a full meal or held a steady breath for longer than a few seconds.
Her mind flicked back to the case, not the progress, but the gaps. The parts she’d meant to cross reference. The connections she swore were just a few hours away. They hovered now, out of reach, mocking her.
If you were stronger, you wouldn’t need rest.
If you were smarter, you would’ve solved it by now.
She hated how convincing the voice in her head could be. It didn’t scream, it didn’t need to. Cool, sharp, familiar.
You’re falling behind.
They’re going to figure out soon that you’re slowing everything down.
The worst part? She didn’t even know if it was true. But it felt true. And that was enough.
She buried deeper into the mattress, breathing shallowly. Her fingers twitched against the blanket, grazing the rough spot on her cheek where the skin is still tender and bruised. She hadn’t cried, not really. Not because she wasn’t close, but because even that felt like too much effort. The weight of guilt had moved past pain and into numbness. A quiet kind of buzzing beneath her skin.
Her fingers twitched against the blanket. She should get up. She should do something. But she didn’t move. Because there was another voice too. Smaller, slower, tucked beneath the noise.
What if you try, and you still can’t keep up?
That one scared her more than all the rest.
The last three days has passed like a haze, blurred around the edges, thick with the thoughts she couldn’t escape and emotions she couldn’t name. She was tired. But not the kind sleep could fix.
Bruce had sent her home two nights ago.
Not asked. Told.
It had been after the mission. The one where she’d gone off-script. She didn’t need the debrief to know she’d crossed the line, ignoring protocol, moving on impulse instead of waiting for the call. She could blame the weeks of exhaustion, the pressure of the case gnawing at her, but the truth was simpler: she hadn’t been thinking straight.
When she came back to the cave, Bruce just stood there, cape draped across his shoulders, posture so still it might’ve been carved from stone. A worried and guilty looking Barbara behind him. His gaze flicked over her once, lingering just long enough on the cut along her cheekbone, the rip in her shoulder seam, and a bleeding forearm to make her want to look away.
Until finally, he said,“You broke protocol.” No anger. Just facts.
She swallowed. “I-”
“You’re done for the night,” he said, final enough to stop her mid-word.
Before she could respond, Alfred stepped forward, his expression unreadable, but his eyes softening as he retrieved a first aid kit, his hands steady as he gently cleaned the cut on her cheek with a damp cloth. He pressed a cool compress to the torn fabric near her shoulder, checking the skin beneath with careful fingers.
“I’m sorry, Y/n. I got worried, I lost contact with-” Barbara said in an apologetic tone.
“It’s fine.” Y/n briefly met her eyes.
“You’ll go home now, Miss Y/n,” Alfred said quietly, his tone gentle but firm.
She hadn’t fought them. Not because she agreed, necessarily, but because she didn’t have the energy to argue.
That was three days ago. She slept a little the first night. Less the second. Tonight, not at all. The guilt wouldn’t let her.
She hadn’t gone back since. Hadn’t solved the case. Hadn’t fixed anything. Hadn’t even tried. Just existed. Stared at walls.
She stood up and drifted into the kitchen, grabbing the glass of water she’d left earlier. The coolness startled her lips. Everything else felt..numb. She stood and walked barefoot into the kitchen. The tiles were cool, but the air was still thick. She poured the glass of water down the drain and leaned against the counter, her mind still spinning, just like that damn fan.
Her phone buzzed on the table. She ignored it.
It buzzed again. She finally looked.
Jason:
You up?
Her heart thudded hard in her chest.
She stared at the screen for a moment, then thumbed out a reply.
Y/n:
What gave it away? My sleep schedule being an absolute mess?
A pause
Then
Jason:
Couldn’t sleep either. Thought I’d check in. Haven’t seen you in a few days.
Another pause.
Jason:
You still wrestling that case or just missing me?
Y/n smiled despite herself, small and reluctant.
She typed back.
Y/n:
Is it obvious?
There was a longer delay before the next message came through.
Jason:
To me? Yeah. It is.
Her fingers hovered over the screen. She sees the text bubble on Jason end pop up again.
Jason:
You haven’t answered anyone. I figured you were in one of your ‘silent spiral’ moods
She stared at her screen for a long time.
Y/n:
You have such a way with words. Define sleeping.
Jason:
Thank you, it’s one of my specialties. Define breathing.
Her jaw clenched
Y/n:
Don’t think I’m doing that either.
There was a long pause. The typing bubbles came and went.
Jason:
You don’t have to do it alone
She didn’t know what she was doing, not really. Just her chest didn’t feel quite as heavy when he messaged. That she wasn’t just thinking about the case anymore.
She let out a breath and texted back.
Y/n:
Wanna come over?
The reply came almost instantly
Jason:
Already grabbing my keys
There was something reckless about it. About both of them, really. About the way she hadn’t hesitated to ask. About the way he hadn’t hesitated to answer. This wasn’t something they
talked about. Not directly. Not in daylight.
But that wasn’t now.
Now was 4:25am
Now there were sweat drenched sheets and a heartbeat ticking too loud. Now was insomnia and the quiet ache of wanting someone without knowing exactly what you want from them.
She set her phone down on the counter and stared out of the window above the sink. The world beyond was still and dark, washed in moonlight and streetlamps. The kind of hour where they felt suspended, where everything ordinary got a little distorted. Softer around the edges. More dangerous, too.
She didn’t know what she expected when he showed up. Maybe she wasn’t expecting anything at all. Maybe a shared silence, maybe. Or someone to occupy the other side of the couch while her thoughts stopped devouring themselves.
She walked back to the bedroom. Peeled off the damp t-shirt, wincing when the fabric dragged over her shoulder. The skin there was still raw, the bruise beneath it spreading in an ugly halo she’d been avoiding checking. She swapped it for a looser shirt that didn’t cling.
At the dresser mirror, she paused. Leaned in.
The cut on her cheek wasn’t that deep, but the bruise around it had darkened, the skin a mottled mix of purple and shadowed yellow.
Her eyes looked worse, not just tired, but worn down, like she’d aged in the past three days. She ran her fingers lightly over the mark, flinching at the sting. Then she let her hand drop, taking in the way her shoulder sat just a little lower than the other, protective without meaning to be.
Combed her fingers through her hair. Debated brushing her teeth and decided against it. Then changed her mind and did it anyway. She made it to the bathroom and paused, gripping the sink tightly. For a moment she avoided the mirror, then finally looked. When she focused, really focused, there was something else there too. A spark. A flicker of anticipation she hadn’t let herself name.
Twenty minutes passed, there was a soft knock at the door.
She didn’t hesitate.
When she opened it, Jason stood there. Hoodie, sweatpants, boots loosely tied like he hadn’t fully intended to be out this late but came anyway. His hair was a little tousled, like he’d been laying down before the message came through, or maybe just raking his hands through it on the way over. His helmet was in his hand, dangling lazily by the chin strap.
His eyes found hers.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The night air wrapped around them both, cooler out here, but not by much. As a siren cried faintly, blocks away.
Jason’s gaze swept over her, and something in his expression shifted. He didn’t linger on the bruise along her cheek or the way she kept her injured shoulder slightly back, but she knew he saw it. The circles under her eyes. Her sunken cheeks. The way she was standing like the weight of gravity had turned personal. He stepped in without asking, and she didn’t stop him. And neither did he.
He just wrapped his arms around her, slow, steady, and no expectation. No conditions. No pressure. Just warmth. Just him.
She stood there, fists balled into his shirt, jaw locked like if she let go she might actually start falling apart in real time.
The press of his arm across her back sent a dull throb through her shoulder, but she didn’t pull away. Jason held her tighter. One hand at her back, one at the base of her neck. Like he knew she needed something to hold her together more than words ever could.
He didn’t say “it’s going to be okay.”
He just said:
“You’re not alone, Y/N. Not tonight.”
And for the first time in days, she believed it.
Y/n didn’t move right away, just stayed wrapped in Jason’s arms. Not because she didn’t want to let go, but because her muscles had finally started to uncoil after days of being tensed up.
Jason’s voice was low near her temple.
“You eat anything?”
Y/n let out a soft snort, muffled against his chest. “That depends. Do half a protein bar and a bottle of Gatorade count?”
He leaned back just enough to look at her, expression dry.
“Only if you’re actively trying to get scurvy.”
She blinked. “That’s vitamin C deficiency.”
Jason arched his brow. “And what color was the Gatorade?”
“...Blue.”
“Exactly.”
She rolled her eyes, but her lips curled a little. Jason took that as a win and nudged her gently towards the kitchen. Y/n shuffled towards the kitchen, still nestled against Jason’s side, the faintest trace of a smile lingering like sunlight through exhaustion.
Jason opened the fridge, the hum and the cold air breaking the silence in a small but comforting way. He pulled out a half empty carton of orange juice and a few apples.
“Here” he said, handing her an apple.
“Vitamin C, guaranteed. And better than blue Gatorade.”
She bit into the apple, the crisp sweetness as a sharp contrast to the heavy dullness she’d been feeling. Jason leaned against the counter, watching her take the first few bites.
His gaze softened as he noticed the bruises and the way she kept her shoulder guarded. After a pause, he asked quietly, “Where’d you get those?”
Her mouth went dry. The question pulled a memory from the fog inside her head.
Four nights ago
An abandoned warehouse at the edge of Robinson park, all broken windows and sagging rafters, rain tapping through the holes in the roof. The air smelt like rust and mold.
Barbara had been in her ear the whole night, light and teasing, the way she got when the work was dragging.
“You seriously haven’t seen Fight club?” she said through the comm.
“I’ve seen it,” Y/n muttered, peering over the edge of the adjacent rooftop.
“Quoting one line you saw in a meme doesn’t count as ‘seeing it’.”
Y/n smirked faintly. “Well it’s the very first rule, you can’t talk about it.”
“Hey, I could-hold on. What’s going on down there?”
That’s when Y/n spotted it. A van pulling up to the warehouse’s loading bay. The driver hopped out first, scanning the alley, opening the backdoors of the truck, two more men appeared from inside the truck, one with a heavy steel pipe, another dragging a young frightened girl by the arm.
“Oracle,” Y/n said quietly, her focus sharpening, “they’ve got a hostage.”
“I’m not picking up anything from the planned routes. Wait for backup-”
“Can’t. They’re going inside now.”
She was already moving, dropping from the fire escape into the alley before Barbara could finish her protest.
Inside the warehouse, the stale air hung heavy with dust and tension. The beam of the streetlight outside cut through the darkness as she stalked closer. Suddenly, a figure lunged from the shadows, a steel pipe coming down towards her head like a guillotine blade.
Y/n barely ducked in time, feeling the wind rush over her head as the pipe crashed into the crate behind her. She countered with a sharp elbow to his ribs, hearing the satisfying crack as he doubled over.
Before she could catch her breath, another attacker charged, a gleaming knife raised high. She twisted away, but not fast enough. The blade grazed her left cheek, burning cold and sharp. She tasted copper as blood trickled down, and a dark bruise blossomed as the attacker sneered.
Pain sharpened her focus.
Another thug tackled her hard against metal crates, the impact sending shockwaves through her shoulder. She gasped but reacted quickly, headbutted his nose, feeling a wet crunch beneath her forehead. He staggered back, swearing.
She drew her baton, swinging in a wide arc, striking the man with the pipe square in the temple. He rocked but didn’t fall.
The knife-wielder circled again, eyes cold. Y/n ducked a slash, grabbing his wrist, and twisted fiercely until the blade clattered to the ground. She yanked the handcuffs from her belt and snapped them tightly around his wrist.
The man with the pipe charged again. Y/n kicked hard at his knee. He collapsed, but before she could take advantage, the third thug slammed her shoulder again. A sharp, burning jab shot through her arm.
She gritted her teeth and pressed her palm to the injury, but there was no time to pause. The thug yanked her hair, pulling her backwards violently.
Desperate, her fingers scraped along the concrete floor until they found a jagged shard of glass. With every ounce of strength, she shalshed his stomach.
He yelped, loosening his grip. Y/n twisted free, spinning on her heel.
Her breathing was ragged. Blood trickled from the cut on her cheek, mixing with sweat and grime.
A terrified girl crouched behind a crate, eyes wide with fear.
“Come with me,” Y/n whispered fiercely, grabbing the girl’s trembling hand.
Y/n tightened her grip, pulling her toward the warehouse exit. Every step was a gamble, the men were regrouping, voices rising in anger.
The girl stumbled, fear almost freezing her in place. Y/n bent down quickly, voice low and firm. “Keep moving. You’re safe with me. Just a little further.”
Suddenly, flashing red and blue lights flickered outside the broken windows. Y/n’s comm crackled to life, Barbara’s voice sharp and calm.
"Y/N?.. Are you there?” she asked in a worried and rushed voice.
“Yeah..yeah I’m here.” Y/n felt the guilt washing over her when she heard the panic in her friend’s voice.
“Oh, thank god!” she let out a big sigh of relief.
“Dad’s on his way with the GCPD. They should be pulling in any minute now. Hang on tight.”
Y/n exhaled sharply. Backup was coming, but she couldn’t wait. She had to get the girl out now.
The sound of heavy footsteps thundered behind them. One of the thugs shouted, “She’s got the kid!”
Y/n’s heart hammered. She grabbed a length of chain lying nearby and swung it hard, hitting the nearest attacker in the ribs. He doubled over, giving them a precious few seconds.
They burst through the warehouse door into the cold night air. Y/n didn’t slow down, dragging the girl across the cracked pavement towards the street where the patrol cars had just pulled up, their sirens echoing off the buildings.
The officers poured out, weapons drawn, moving quickly to secure the scene.
The thugs hesitated, caught between Y/n and the flashing lights. One lunged, but Y/n blocked, using the momentum to shove him into the side of a patrol car. The impact rattled the metal.
The girl stayed close behind her, trembling but safe.
Barbara’s voice cracked through again. “You’re clear now. GCPD’s got the perimeter control. We’ve got your back.”
Y/n allowed herself a brief moment of relief, but her bruised cheek burned as a reminder.
And afterward, when the all girls were found and the case buried in red tape. Bruce never said a word. He didn’t say she was right. He didn’t say anything at all. He only saw the mistakes she made that night.
Jason’s voice pulled her back.
“You shouldn’t have gone in alone.”
She gave a shaky breath, eyes dropping.
“I thought I could handle it. Backup takes too long sometimes.”
Jason shook his head, voice low but steady.
“You did handle it, but you don’t have to be a lone wolf all the time.”
She looked up, meeting his steady gaze, a flicker of relief in the tightness of her chest.
He let out a satisfied hum.
“Do you want to do something stupid to keep us awake?” Jason asked with a crooked smile, reaching for the shelf where an old board game sat.
Y/n’s lips twitched into a genuine smile for the first time that night.
“Which one? We’re talking Risk, Monopoly or ‘Let’s see how fast I can lose my money’?”
“Risk is a bad idea right now.” Jason grinned, pulling out a smaller, simpler game, something with cards from her shelf, something half forgotten and missing a rulebook.
“I don’t remember how to play this,” Y/n admitted, glancing over the cards.
Jason shrugged, already shuffling. “We’ll make it up. That’s basically how we handle missions anyway.”
She huffed a small laugh, and that was enough. They played a half invented version of the game, drawing cards and answering random prompts, some funny, some ridiculous. She laughed softly.
Jason pulled one and read dramatically:
“Most embarrassing moment during a mission, go.”
Y/n groaned, already covering her face.
“God. Okay. The warehouse sting with Dick, two months ago.”
His brows rose. “The one with the paint barrels?”
“I tripped over a cord and face planted into a vat of industrial green dye. Green. Dye. My suit was ruined, Dick had to carry me out, and the perp we were chasing stopped running to laugh at me.”
Jason choked on a laugh.”That explains the suit redesign.”
She rolled her eyes, but corners of her mouth tugged upward.
“Alright, your turn. Most embarrassing.”
He smirked. “Easy. That museum gala last year, undercover op. I spent an hour charming the target’s assistant.. before realizing it was the wrong assistant. The right one was across the room, watching me with pity.”
Y/n snorted. “I remember that. Tim recorded it.”
Jason groaned. “Of course, he did. He probably has a folder called ‘Jason fails’.”
“Bold of you to assume it’s not a series.”
They grinned at each other. The room felt less heavy. Her head didn’t buzz so loudly. Even her chest, still tight, didn’t feel quite like it was caving in.
They kept playing, sharing more stories; the close calls, the moments that still made their heart race or brought out quiet pride. The weight of the world felt a little lighter in every shared laugh, every remembered victory.
As they rounded up their game, Y/n leaned back against the couch, her head tipping just enough to rest on the edge of the cushion.
“I’m sorry I ghosted” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
He was quiet for a moment before answering.
“I’ve done worse.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know.” He looked at her. “But I’m not mad. Just.. I didn’t want you thinking you had to go through it alone.”
She closed her eyes. “You ever feel like.. if you stop moving, even for a second, everything catches up?”
Jason exhaled slowly. ”Yeah. More often than I like to admit.”
“Then what do you do?”
“Depends.” He tapped a finger gently against one of the cards. “Sometimes I run harder. Sometimes I break things.”
She chuckled softly, dry and tired. “And tonight?”
“Tonight, I came here.”
The quiet stretched again, but this time it was warm, filled with the soft tick of her wall clock and the distant hum of traffic from the street below.
Then their phones buzzed.
At the same time.
Y/n groaned and reached blindly for hers while Jason fished his out of his hoodie pocket. They both opened the same message from the batfam group chat.
No Capes, Just Problems:
Bruce:
Family dinner. Tomorrow. 1900 hours.
Mandatory.
No excuses, no disappearances, no radio silence.
Attendance expected.
Jason’s eyebrow lifted.
“Oh wow. He brought out the military timestamp. It’s serious.”
Y/n stared at the message.
“No ‘hello’. No ‘I miss you’. Just ‘you better be there or Alfred’s wrath will find you.”
Jason snorted. “That’s love, baby.”
Then the flood of texts came through.
Dick:
Is this a trap?
Steph:
Why is he using full sentences?
Is this an emotional ambush?
Tim:
What happened? Who died? Again?
Duke:
He didn’t even use anyone’s name. Just threw the grenade and dipped.
Cass:
He should have @ some people if he wants a response
@Y/n
Duke:
She’s been in this chat for over five years, Cass
Steph:
Yeah but she’s usually a ‘leave a sarcastic comment and dip’ ghost.
Now she’s in the summoning circle
Y/n:
Okay rude, I’ve contributed at least four gifs this month and two tactical opinions.
Jason:
The gifs were valuable. The tactical opinions were mostly ‘shoot him again’.
Y/n:
Which worked, didn’t it?
Y/n hid her smile in her mug. This was.. normal. Chaotic, ridiculous, vaguely threatening but normal. A group chat full of crime fighting misfits and one deeply traumatized billionaire pretending this was how normal families made plans.
Jason laughed. “He really did hit everyone at once. Group wide bat signal.”
Tim:
So, do we actually eat or is this a disguised intervention?
Dick:
Probably both. There’ll be mashed potatoes and guilt.
Steph:
I’m not canceling my hair appointment unless there’s pie.
Alfred:
There will be pie.
Steph:
Canceling now.
Damian:
If we must attend this melodramatic ritual, I assume Alfred is preparing actual food?
Alfred:
Of course, Master Damian. I wouldn’t dare serve emotional vulnerability on an empty stomach.
Steph:
That’s the only way we survive emotional vulnerability in this family.
Jason smirked and typed back.
Jason:
Is it too late to fake food poisoning?
Duke:
I’ll bring board games in case we want to pretend we’re functional.
Dick:
You mean to start a fight?
Steph:
I call sitting next to Y/n. She’s the only sane one left.
Y/n snorted softly and fired back.
Y/n:
That’s adorable. I’m actually feral. I just mask better.
Cass:
You’re always been on of us
Jason leaned closer to her phone, typing on his own.
Jason:
She’s been one of us since she made Damian cry with one single look.
Damian:
I was ten and you caught me at a weak moment. Leave me alone.
Y/n:
You tried to stab me for taking the last cinnamon roll.
Damian:
And I missed
Y/n put her phone down, biting back a smile. It was ridiculous, all of it. But god, did she need it. That absurd, dysfunctional group chat that somehow felt more like a lifeline than any therapy session ever could.
Jason leaned back on the couch next to her, his thigh brushing against hers. He didn’t say anything right away, just let the silence stretch comfortably, broken only by the soft hum of the ceiling fan overhead and the echo of another message coming in.
Bruce:
1900 hours. Sharp.
Jason squinted at it. “He’s really committing to the bit.”
Y/n smiled. “I think it’s the only language he knows.”
Y/n:
I’ll bring cupcakes!
Steph:
And emotional damage.
Y/n:
Obviously. I never show up empty handed.
Jason chuckled next to her. “Cupcakes and trauma. That should be our group name.”
Y/n leaned into him slightly, her voice soft.
“Better than ‘sleep deprived messes with impulse control issues’.”
Jason grinned. “Speak for yourself. That one’s practically my brand.”
Y/n looked at her wall clock and saw how late it was, wondering why everyone was answering Bruce's text. She grabbed her phone and started typing.
Y/n:
Okay but seriously
Why is everyone answering so fast???
Most of you are on patrol and Duke’s supposed to be asleep??
Tim:
I’m literally hiding on a rooftop waiting for someone to do something illegal. This is my break.
Dick:
I’m tailing someone. He stopped for tacos. I stopped for drama.
Steph:
I can text AND fight. Don’t doubt me.
Duke:
I was asleep. Then Bruce’s message triggered my fight or flight.
Cass:
I paused mid fight to answer. Priorities.
Jason:
Y/n and I are literally in her apartment, watching this unfold in real time.
I’m not on patrol. I’m supervising her emotional breakdown.
Y/n:
I’m right here, you dipshit.
Jason:
I said what I said.
Damian:
If you’re both off duty, then neither of you has an excuse to be this unproductive.
Y/n:
Sir, I haven’t slept in three days and Jason’s idea of nutrition was feeding me half an apple and war flashbacks.
Jason:
I’m doing my best.
Steph:
This is unhinged behavior. I love it.
Jason:
We may be emotionally stunted, but we’re efficient.
Dick:
Honestly, that should go on the family crest.
Tim:
That implies that Bruce believes in crests. Or emotions
Y/n:
Or families.
A brief pause in the chat. Then:
Alfred:
And yet, here you all are.
Jason let out a low whistle. “He always knows when to land the final blow.”
Y/n smiled at her phone. Warm, fond, tired.
Then, a message appeared
Bruce:
I monitor your locations.
I knew when you’d all be free enough to respond.
I planned accordingly.
Steph:
Are you admitting to emotionally profiling us in real time??
Bruce:
I said 19:00. Don’t be late.
Jason:
That’s not a denial.
Dick:
.. Did we just get emotionally hacked by Batman?
Y/n:
You say that like it’s the first time
Jason huffed out a quiet laugh beside her, shaking his head
“We’re never escaping this man.”
They sat there for a while longer, both quiet, but it wasn’t the crushing kind of quiet. This one had room in it. Space to breathe. To exist without explanation.
Jason nudged her knee gently. “You sure you’re up for it?”
She tilted her head, meeting his eyes. “Honestly? No. But I’m going to show up anyway.
He nodded like he understood, and he did. That was the thing with him. He never asked her to be okay. Just present. Just real.
“Good” he said finally. “Because if I’m suffering through a meal with all of them, I want you there next to me.
“Mutually assured discomfort?” She smirked.
“Exactly.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. He didn’t move, didn’t stiffen or shift, just let her be there. It felt earned, somehow. Like this moment had waited for the right amount of chaos to soften them both.
Eventually, her eyelids started to get heavy. For the first time that night, it was a repeat of three nights all over again. Her body remembered how to settle. How to breathe. How to let go.
Jason looked down and found her dozed off, her features finally relaxed. He didn’t move. Just pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over them both, phone still buzzing occasionally beside them.
He’d answer them later.
For now, he stayed still.
And Y/n slept.
Really slept.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
Y/n had been staring at her apartment door for ten minutes. Jacket on, boots laced. umbrella leaning against the wall. The clock ticked louder with every second she didn’t move.
Do I even want to do this?
She could already hear Bruce’s disappointed sigh. See the subtle looks from across the table. Feel the heaviness in her chest. Almost feel the awkward tension at the table when she walks in late. Almost see the way everyone’s eyes would follow her, silently asking why bother showing up at all?
But then she thought about yesterday. The way Jason’s grin had pulled her out of a bad night. The way his voice softened when it was just the two of them.
Just go. Just.. go.
That was enough to make her open the door. She finally stepped out into the Gotham rain, she didn’t even bother with the umbrella. By the time she reached the manor’s front steps, she was soaked.
Alfred answered the door as if he’d been expecting her.
“Miss Y/n, you’re late” he said gently, as if he could see every hesitation she’d fought through just to make it here.
“I know,” she muttered, glancing at the floor.
He simply nodded and gestured towards the dining room. The warmth inside hit her immediately. The click of silverware, the low hum of conversation. She hovered at the doorway for half a second.
When she walked in, all eyes flicked her way. Bruce was the first to speak, his tone edged with that sharp disappointment only he could pull off.
“Dinner started twenty minutes ago.”
Her fingers curled around the back of the empty chair.
“I-”
Before she could mumble an apology, Dick leaned back in his chair, grinning.
“C’mon, Bruce. She’s just trying to make a dramatic entrance.”
The comment broke the tension enough for a few smiles around the table, but Y/n still felt the flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. She slipped into her chair, keeping her gaze on her plate as Alfred set down food for her.
Damian didn’t really look up from his plate.
“If you intend to participate, punctuality is-”
“Damian” Bruce warned, though there was no real edge to it.
Y/n forced a small smile.
“Good to see you too, Damian.”
Seven minutes later, Jason strolled in without a hint of hurry.
“Traffic,” he announced casually, as though he hadn’t kept everyone waiting.
The second he saw her, his smirk shifted into something warmer.
“Hey, you” he said, sliding into the empty chair beside her. He leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice.“Glad you made it.”
She exhaled quietly, the tension in her shoulders easing a fraction.
“Barely,” she murmured back.
A quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh left him before he reached for the bread basket and set it between them.
Dinner moved in fits and starts, bits of banter, arguments over half-remembered details of past patrols, the scrape of cutlery. But in the midst of the chaos, Jason and Y/n existed in a quiet pocket. A bubble, untouched by the noise. They didn’t speak much. Just small things, handing each other dishes without asking, refiling glasses before the other noticed it was empty.
Every now and then, Y/n would lean back in her seat and Jason would do the same. A mirrored rhythm. The same way they shifted in tandem, the way people who’ve spent a lot of time together start to move.
They weren’t even doing anything. But it was obvious.
Jason reached for the bread basket, his fingers brushing lightly over hers, not an accident, but not deliberate enough to be bold.
Y/n smiled faintly, eyes still on her plate.
Dick leaned towards Tim and whispered,
“They’re literally flirting with bread now.”
Tim smirked.
“They don’t even know they’re doing it.”
The table felt full tonight, not just with plates and glasses but with voices.
Cass had slid in between Damian and Steph at some point, quietly stealing bites off both their plates like it was an unspoken routine. Steph playfully swatted her hand each time, grinning through it.
Barbara sat besides Bruce, drink in hand, eyes flickering up every so often as she tracked the conversations.
Duke, across from her, was already halfway through seconds and recounting something that sounded half like a car chase, half like a comedy sketch.
“You’re the one who said take the shortcut,” he was telling Tim.
‘It was a shortcut,” Tim shot back, mouth full. “You just panicked.”
“Oh, I panicked? Who missed the turn and nearly crashed into a flower shop?”
“It was closed!”
Laughter rolled across the table. Even Bruce’s mouth twitched.
Y/n sat back in her chair, her plate almost finished, her hands in her lap. She listened, eyes soft but distant, until her gaze drifted to the untouched glass in front of her.
Jason, beside her, didn’t interrupt the flow. He laughed at Duke’s dramatics, traded a few quick lines with Steph, nodded along with something Cass whispered to him, but every few minutes, his attention shifted back to Y/n, subtle but constant.
Bruce cleared his throat halfway through the meal.
“I’’m glad everyone’s here.”
Jason hummed in vague agreement.
“Especially on time” Bruce added with pointed dryness.
Y/n didn’t look up. “You’re welcome.”
“I was working,” Jason said at the exact same time. He smirked faintly.
Y/n pressed her lips together to keep her from smiling.
Bruce cleared his throat once more, the sound cutting through the chatter.
“Patrol assignments,” he said.
“Tim and Damian, bowery. Dick, east sector rooftops. Jason, the Narrows. Steph and Cass, north perimeter. Y/n, case duty.”
Her stomach tightened. “Only the case? No patrol?”
Bruce’s gaze didn’t waver. “Until I’m confident the case is closed.”
She blinked at him, something sharp flashing in her eyes. “You mean until you’re confident I won’t screw up again.”
That stilled everyone.
Dick’s voice was the first to break the silence. “Hey, nobody’s saying-”
“I put myself in a bad position,” Y/n cut in, tone flat but steady. “Four days ago. I went in without back up. I escalated things before I assessed. I got hurt.” She tapped her cheekbone gently “- and here.” Her fingers brushed the slope of her shoulder, hidden under the sleeve of her shirt.
Babara, sitting at the end of the table, leaned forward slightly. “I was on comms that night. You went dark for like fifteen minutes."
Y/n met her gaze. “I know. Didn’t mean to. I didn’t know that my comms were cut off.”
“I figured you were pinned,” Barbara said softly. “I was ready to pull everyone on after you.”
“I got out,” Y/n replied quietly. “And I dealt with it, but.. yeah. I put myself there.”
Tim let out a low breath. “That’s a bad night, not a death sentence. We’ve all done worse.”
“That’s why,” she said, then glanced at Bruce, “and because of that he decided that means I need babysitting.”
Bruce didn’t rise to it, but the silence was heavier than before.
Dick leaned forward, elbows on the table.
“You’re here, you’re breathing, and you’re not on crutches. We’ve all had worse.”
“It wasn’t worse,” she said quietly, “ but it was avoidable. I get that.”
Damian tilted his head, studying her like she was another data point in a file. “Then perhaps the lesson-”
Jason’s voice cut in, low but edged. “Shut it.”
Damian glared, but Jason didn’t even look at him. His attention stayed on her, expression unreadable in the low light.
Jason’s hand found her thigh under the table, the weight solid, steady. She slid her own hand down and caught his index finger loosely, her thumb brushing over the joint once. She didn’t look at him, but the corner of her mouth shifted almost imperceptibly.
“Hey,” Dick said lightly, nudging his empty glass.
“Better than getting your ribs cracked three rooftops from help. Desk work’s a vacation for this family.”
Y/n gave a half-smile. “Right. Champagne and evidence logs.”
Damian narrowed his eyes on her. “If you’re not capable of managing the workload-”
“Damian,” Jason said. Just a simple warning.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t capable,” Y/n muttered, grabbing her glass just to do something with her hands, still feeling her shoulder lightly pulling at the movement.
Dick’s grin faltered a little. “You good, though?”
“I’m fine.”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “Fine?”
“I said I’m fine.”
Even Bruce blinked at her tone. Not harsh, but sharp enough to slice the air. She wasn't even looking at any of them now, just pressing her glass to her lips, eyes fixed on the far wall like she could step into it and disappear.
Jason leaned forward slightly, arm brushing hers. “Hey,” he said, lower now, pitched for her. “Don’t let him get under your skin.”
She didn’t respond, but her fingers relaxed slightly around the glass.
Alfred began clearing the plates. Jason passed Y/n’s plate to him quietly, catching her eye half a second as he did.
Bruce finally spoke again, voice even but not cold.
“The decision stands. It’s not a punishment. It's a caution.”
She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Feels the same from where I'm sitting.”
No one argued with that.
The room’s noise slowly picked up again. Dick and Tim talking across from her, Damian making clipped remarks, Duke and Barbara talking about improving some equipment, Steph and Cass having their own little conversation that she couldn’t hear, Alfred moving quietly. But Jason didn’t join in. He leaned back in his chair, his hand still on her thigh, as if to tell her without words that he was on her side in this one.
“You wanna get some air?” he asked finally, voice low but calm, like there was no rush.
Y/n glanced at him sideways. “It’s still raining.”
He shrugged. “We’ve survived worse.”
She nodded softly, releasing Jason’s finger from her grip, then pushed her chair back, following him out into the cool night air.
The rain had softened to a light and thin drizzle, beading on the stone patio and darkening the railing. Beyond the gardens, Gotham’s skyline was a faint blur under the cloud cover. The muffled sounds of the family drifted through the glass behind them.
Jason leaned against the railing, arms folded loosely.
“You didn’t like what Bruce said.”
“Not particularly,” she said, staring at the dark garden.
“You’re not benched because you can’t handle it,” he said, eyes on the garden.
“He just likes thinking you’re somewhere safe.”
She gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “Safe. Right. Feels more like he’s keeping me somewhere I’m easy to ignore.”
Jason didn’t answer right away. He just shifted closer, his shoulder brushing hers.
They stood in silence for a moment, the sound of the rain filling the space between them.
“You good?” he asked her again, in the hope she would truthfully answer this time.
She hesitated. “Yeah.. just tired.”
He gave her a look. “You’ve been running too hard again.”
“I know.”
Jason stayed quiet, the kind of quiet that made her want to fill it. “I hate this case,” she said finally. “It’s messy. Cold. All the pieces are there but nothing clicks. I keep thinking I’m missing something obvious. Something right in front of me,” she said, airing out her frustrations.
Jason hummed now. “You’re doing everything right.”
“But it’s not enough.”
The ways she said it, soft, raw, made his head turn towards her.
“Y/n..”
“Sorry.” She shook her head. “Forget it.”
“You mean with the case.. or in general?”
Her arms tightened around herself. “In general,” she admitted, so quiet it almost got lost under the rain.
“You ever feel like you’re the last person picked, no matter how hard you try?”
Jason’s jaw tightened. “Every day.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to the space between them.
“You’re not the last,” he said, in a certain voice.
“Not to me.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
His hand lifted from where it rested on the railing, brushing the middle of her back, slow, hesitant, grounding.
“Jay..”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t-”
“No,” she said softly. “Don’t apologize."
“Sometimes I think… If I let go even a little, everything might come crashing down.” She confessed.
Jason’s palm settled more firmly against her back. “Then let it crash. I’ll still be here.”
She searched his face, her walls lowered just enough for him to see past them. He didn’t look away.
The rain kept failing, soft and steady, and the sound from inside faded to background noise. Out here, it was just them, standing close enough to share breath but not quite touching in full. And for a while, that was enough.
The silence stretched. Her gaze drifted toward the misty garden, but Jason’s stayed fixed on her.
“C’mere,” he said suddenly, his voice softer than she’d heard all night.
She frowned faintly. “What-”
He just opened his arms.
It took her a second, but then she stepped into him, her forehead pressing against his chest. The warmth of him was immediate, cutting through the damp chill in the air.
Jason’s arms wrapped tight around her, one hand splayed across her back like could hold her together if she decided to fall apart.
They stayed like that, no words, no movement except the slow rise and fall of his breathing, until she felt something in her own chest loosen.
When they finally pulled back, Jason didn’t let her step far. His hands slid up, rough palms cupping her face, thumbs brushing her rain-damp skin.
“You listen to me,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “You’re not some afterthought. Not to me. Not ever.”
Inside the manor, just beyond the fogged glass, Alfred paused, clearing the table, his gaze unintentionally drawn outside. Through the slight sheen of moisture, he saw Jason’s hands rise slowly, embracing Y/n face without hesitation.
Dick caught Alfred’s glance and followed it. A slow grin crept across his face. “Well, well, well..” he muttered under his breath.
Barbara, sitting nearby, looked over and gave a quiet hum, knowing more than she let on.
“About time.”
Tim appeared, a question on his lips, but Barbara’s quick dismissal and Dick’s smirk kept the conversation unspoken.
Alfred only shook his head with a faint smile. “Not our business” he said softly, but the slight twinkle in his eyes said otherwise.
“Sure,” Dick said under his breath, “not our business at all.”
Back on the patio,
Y/n’s breath caught, but she nodded. The intensity in his gaze was almost too much, but she didn’t look away.
He dropped his hands slowly, searching her face. “You still got all your case notes at your place?”
Y/n blinked. “Yeah. Why?”
“Because we’re going there. You walk me through everything you’ve got, and we’re gonna work it out. Together.”
She huffed a quiet laugh. “You know Bruce will hate that.”
“Let him.” Jason stepped back, his hand brushing hers briefly before he turned towards the manor. “You’ve been chewing on this thing alone for weeks. I’m done watching you drown in it.”
Jason and Y/n moved towards the manor. The familiar warmth embraced them. Alfred was polishing silverware at the sideboard, giving them a knowing nod but saying nothing.
Dick, still seated in his chair, eyes flicking up from his phone with a teasing grin. “Late night, huh?”
Tim watched from his phone with a raised brow. Barbara peeked in from the kitchen, eyebrow cocked, but said nothing.
Jason just smirked and squeezed Y/n’s hand briefly as they walked past. No word necessary.
Outside, Jason’s bike gleamed wet under the moonlight. Droplets clinging to the sleek frame.
He pulled the helmet from the handlebars, he held it out to her for a moment, then stepped closer.
Slowly, he tilted her chin upward, his thumb brushing lightly against her jawline. The movement was subtle but deliberate, exposing the graceful line of her neck.
Her breath hitched softly, the air between them charged with something unspoken.
Jason’s eyes flicked to expose her skin, then back to her eyes, searching, steady and patient.
He lowered the helmet over her head, the coolness of the helmet brushing her hair, and carefully fastened the strap beneath her chin.
His hands lingered just a second longer, fingers grazing the curve of her neck as he adjusted the fit.
Jason got on his bike and kicked the bike stand back.
Y/n glanced up at him, then reached out, fingers curling lightly around his shoulder for balance as she swung her leg over the bike.
Her other hand hovered awkwardly, unsure where to rest, the sudden closeness stirring a flutter in her chest. Jason noticed immediately. Without a word, he slid his hands around hers, his grip firm but gentle. Slowly, he guided her fingers to loop around his waist, anchoring her there.
The subtle pressure sent a rush through both of them, grounding, electric.
Y/n pressed closer instinctively, the warmth of his body a sharp contrast to the cool night air.
Jason’s breath hitched slightly, the simple closeness pulling at something deeper than words. They stayed like that for a second longer, tethered by touch, poised on the edge of something unspoken, before Jason gave the engine a soft rev.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.
Jason eased the bike forward, tires rolling over the wet pavement. The night air wrapped around them, cool, sharp, alive.
Y/n clung to him lightly, every inch of her pressed against the steady warmth of his back. The subtle rhythm of his breathing was a quiet anchor.
The city blurred past, streaks of neon bleeding into the misty rain. The distant hum of traffic faded behind them, replaced by the rush of wind and the engine’s low growl beneath them.
She felt his body tense just slightly with each turn, the subtle shift of muscle under her hands as he guided them expertly through the empty streets.
Jason glanced back once, catching her gaze in the reflection of a rain-slicked window. She seemed more alive than she had been for weeks.
For a moment, the world narrowed to the hum of the bike and the heat of their closeness.
The bike slowed, the city’s glow softening as they pulled up outside her apartment building.
Jason cut the engine, the sudden silence almost jarring after the rush of the ride.
Y/n slipped her arms from around his waist and swung her leg off the bike, steadying herself on the wet pavement.
Jason lifted his helmet and caught her gaze, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips.
“Ready for round two?” he asked, nodding towards the apartment.
For a heartbeat, Y/n blinked, then her cheeks flushed, the phrase hitting her in a way she hadn’t expected.
“Uh..yeah,” she stammered, a little breathless, quickly tugging her jacket tighter around her.
Jason’s smirk deepened, clearly amused by her reaction, but he didn’t tease her, just shrugged like it was no big deal.
Inside, the warm smell of faintly old books. Jason was already there before she could settle, leaning casually against her kitchen counter, fingers idly turning over a comm unit as the warehouse blueprints flickered on the wall. Rain still clung to his jacket, now tossed carelessly over a chair. The air smelled faintly of steel, citrus cleaner and something burned into memory.
She knelt on the floor, organizing gear with clean, deliberate movements. Grappling line. Compact baton. Smoke rounds. Small, quiet tools. Nothing flashy. Just enough.
He watched her for a moment, deeply in thoughts.
She does that when she’s focused. Or when she’s hurting on the inside. Tonight, I couldn’t tell which.
“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “you think this warehouse is the core of the operation?”
“I think it’s where the real evidence is.” Her voice was calm, eyes still locked on her kit.
“Bruce didn’t get this far. Or maybe he didn’t want to.”
Jason glanced sideways, catching the shift in her tone. Not anger, fatigue. Old disappointment, worn thin from years of not being surprised anymore.
Keep moving. Don’t think too hard. Don’t feel too much. Y/n mentally said to herself.
“That bitterness looks good on you,” he said, aiming for light.
She gave him a crooked smirk. “You say that about everything.”
“I mean it this time.”
She stood, handing him a small drive. “Footage I pulled from dockside surveillance. East dock 7 has heavy foot traffic at night, but no loading manifest matches the timing. Someone’s moving product, off record.”
He pocketed it with a nod. “So tonight, we poke around and see what squeaks.”
Their banter faded into strategy as she pulled up the updated blueprints, overlaying thermal imaging and marked security sweeps. "Security’s lighter than it should be for something this active. Either someone’s being paid to look away, or there’s something inside they don’t want seen.”
Jason studied the map, jaw tight. “I’ll take the north perimeter. You circle in slow from the south. We meet on the east rooftop, fifteen after.”
Y/n raised her eyebrow. “We’re actually sticking to a plan this time?”
Jason smirked. “Look, I’m growing. Let me have this.” Y/n smiled at his comment.
She was smiling again. Not the tired smirk, but something real, even if only for a second. God, I missed that smile.
She pulled on her jacket, her eyes meeting his from across the dim kitchen.
“We get in, we get eyes, and we don’t blow our cover”
He gave her a lazy salute. “No blowing cover. Got it.”
Her mind drifted for a second, uninvited.
Four nights ago. The same dock. Different mission. Bruce had been breathing down her neck then, shadowing her every move.
She remembered standing on that same rooftop she and Jason were headed for tonight, cold wind, blood on her gloves. A decision that still stuck to her ribs like ash.
“Stand down.” Bruce had said over her comm, voice tight. “You’re letting it get too personal.”
But she didn't.
She remembered climbing that same roof. The man at the center of it all, laughing as if no one could touch him.
She was right, about the traffickers, about the fake shipments, about the man who disappeared three days later with a silenced round in the back of his head. But that didn’t matter. Bruce only cared that she broke protocol.
She didn’t need rage. She needed precision. So she moved in silence. Disarmed. Disabled. Collared him with his own zip ties.
“You acted emotionally,” he said. “You’re too close.”
She remembered her hands shook. Not from guilt but from anger. She wasn’t too close. She was the only one close enough to see the rot.
Back in the apartment, she adjusted her comm and caught Jason watching her. Not checking in, just making sure she is still here. Still her.
“You good?” he asked.
She gave a slow nod. “Yeah. You?”
He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder. “Always better when you’re there to drag me out.”
She didn’t smile, not fully. But something behind her ribs shifted.
They weren’t clean. They weren’t whole. But they were good at this, whatever this was. Moving together. Fighting together. Understanding without speaking.
They stepped out into the night, into the wind and the quiet and the waiting dark.
No plans to die. No need for noise. Just motion. And trust.
The rain had lightened to a mist, slicking every surface with that cold kind of damp that seeped through gloves and under collars. Below, the warehouse was bustling, quiet but fast. Too coordinated for street-level runners.
Y/n stood along the roof’s edge, peering through a camera lens. Jason crouched beside her, near the skyline duct. “Two guards at the west door, one rotating the perimeter every twelve minutes.” Jason whispered. “Timing says he’s about due.”
She gave a tight nod, eyes flickering to the timer on her wrist. “Crates are mismarked. No visible ID numbers. For sure hiding something.Definitely not your average delivery. The guy in the grey coat,” she murmured, nodding her head in his direction. “He’s ex-blackgate. Got out six months ago. Supposed to be laying low.”
“Looks like he’s laying low with an automatic rifle and about twenty crates of something heavy.” Jason shifted to peek, studying her profile. Focused. Calm. In her element.
For the first time in weeks, she looked like herself again. Not exhausted, not shut down, not ghosted by Bruce’s silence. And Jason, despite everything, felt something in his chest settle at the sight.
Then crack.
Not loud, but loud enough. The groan of a weathered roof tile under Jasons’s boot.
Both of them froze.
A flashlight beam arced to the roof of the warehouse.
Below, someone called out, “Did you hear that?”
Jason instinctively dropped low, but too fast, too sharp. He slipped.
Y/n reacted without thinking. She caught his jacket mid-fall but got yanked back, but with her momentum and the rain-slicked surface, she slipped forward.
Jason hit the roof flat on his back with a grunt. And Y/n landed squarely on top of him. Her hands braced on his chest. His breath hitched.
For half a second, they both blinked, breathless.
Then his eyes met hers, lips parted slightly.
Y/n didn’t register it immediately, not until he sucked in a breath through his nose and shifted just slightly under her. Then she felt it.
The heat.
The tension.
Him.
“Oh..” she breathed, barely audible.
Jason stared at her, completely still. His hand was on her hip. He didn’t remember putting it there.
“Shit.. sorry,” she whispered, starting to push herself up.
Before she could move away, Jason’s gloved hand shot up, gripping her waist and pulling her back down firmly against him.
“Don’t move,” he murmured, low and commanding. His gaze wasn’t on her, it was over her shoulder, tracking the flashlight behind her.
Her breath caught. She could feel the controlled tension in his muscles, the subtle rise and fall of his chest. And there was no mistaking the hard length between her thighs, the sharp reminder of how close they were.
The flashlight beam swept nearer. Jason’s fingers tightened on her hips, anchoring her there. “Still,” he breathed, voice edged in strain.
She nodded, but curiosity got the best of her. She shifted slightly, trying to angle her head to see if the goon had moved on.
That tiny adjustment made her press against him just right. Jason’s breath hitched audibly. His grip on her hips turned almost bruising. “Y/n..” he warned, voice rougher this time “Please.. don’t.”
The way he said it, low, almost pained, made heat creep in between her thighs. But she had to know if the guy was still there, so she shifted again, her thigh brushing his hips.
Jason’s jaw clenched hard. He breathed out slowly, almost like he was fighting for control. “You’re killing me here,” he muttered under his breath.
Her stomach flipped. She froze completely, pulse pounding, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch where their bodies touched. His hands hadn’t left her hips, thumbs resting just under the edge of her jacket.
The flashlight lingered. Seconds stretched.
Neither of them moved. Neither of them dared to breathe too loudly.
And all the while, she felt the subtle shift of his breathing, the tense coil of his muscles under her hands, the awareness that he was very, very aware of her sitting on top of him like that.
Finally, mercifully, the light drifted away.
Jason let out a long breath, releasing her hips but not immediately moving away. “Clear,” he said, voice lower than usual.
Y/n swallowed, suddenly unsure where to put her hands. She pushed herself up, but not before her knee brushed the sensitive spot she’d been sitting on. Jason’s breath caught again, and she caught the faintest twitch of his jaw before she looked away.
He sat up after her, he immediately adjusted himself, hands moving under the waistline of his pants, cheeks flushing faintly under the moonlight.
Y/n caught the movement, and for a heartbeat, she froze. Then a small, knowing smirk tugged at her lips. She didn’t say anything, but the look in her eyes was enough to make Jason’s cheeks flush a deeper red.
“Come on,” he said gruffly, still not looking at her. “We’ve got work to do.”
But the space between them felt warmer now. And she couldn’t stop thinking how it felt when he’d told her to not move.
They settled back into position at the ledge, the cool night air doing little to calm the heat thrumming in Y/n’s chest.
Jason crouched beside her, his scope trained on the dock. He didn’t speak. Didn’t glare at her. But his jaw was tight, like he was still working to shove whatever had just happened into a box in his head.
Don’t think about it. Just.. don’t. She hadn’t meant to land there.
He knew that, but the second she shifted..yeah. He gritted his teeth, forcing his breathing even.
Count the men. Count the crates. Not the fact that she fits on top of me like she was meant to.
She tried to focus on the job, counting crates, marking faces, but her brain kept replaying the feeling of his hands on her hips, the rough edges of his voice when he begged her to not move and most of all, she could stop thinking about the heat pooling in between her legs.
Below, two goons wheeled another crate towards the truck. Jason’s voice finally broke the silence.
“Six guys total,” he muttered. “One on the lookout, four loading, one giving orders.”
Y/n nodded, jotting it down.
Keep your tone even. Don’t let him hear it in your voice. You’re fine. Totally fine. Not replaying the moment over and over. Not when the memory of his hands, broad, warm, still lingering on my skin-
“You good?” Jason’s voice broke her focus.
She looked over, caught in the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because you’re quiet.”
She arched her eyebrow. “You’re one to talk, Jay.”
His mouth quivered before he could stop it.
Don’t smile. Don’t.. yeah, too late.
He refocused on the scope, before he said something stupid.
The night dragged on in that same careful quiet, only broken by the occasional note or whispered observation. Every time one of them shifted, an arm brushed, a shoulder bumped. Jason told himself it was just proximity, just two people working close quarters. Y/n told herself it was nothing too, just leather brushing fabric, just the faint scent of gun powder and rain that clung to him.
An hour passed before the last truck rolled away.
Jason finally lowered the scope.
“That’s our cue” he said
She tucked her notebook away in silence, the weight of what neither of them was saying pressing more than the damp air. When Y/n stood, brushing dust off her pants, Jason’s eyes flicked to her before he could stop himself.
Don’t stare. Don't. Dammit, you fucking stared.
Y/n caught it, and her lips twitched just slightly.
They crossed the rooftop together, his hand brushing her lower back as he guided her over a gap. It was light, almost casual, but deliberate. He told himself it was just to steady her. She knew he didn’t have to touch her to do it.
Neither said a word about what had happened earlier. But both carried the memory like a live wire between them, buzzing hotter with every step away from the docks
By the time they reached her apartment, the rain had started again, soft at first, then steady enough to slick their jackets and bead along the edges of their hair.
Jason followed her in without asking, dropping his gear by the couch. He peeled off his damp leather jacket, tossing it over a chair. The black shirt underneath clung to his shoulders, and Y/n had to force herself to look away before she got caught staring.
She kicked her boots off and went straight to the table, dropping her stakeout notes with a deep sigh.
“So, six guys. The guy giving orders-”
Jason moved to the table, running a hand through his wet hair.
“Didn’t catch a name but..” He trailed off, flipping through the stack of photos she’d taken. One, in particular, caught his attention. Blurry, half-obscured by mist and shadows. A man in an oversized coat with a too-bright tie, loitering near the back of a truck but not unloading. Just.. watching.
“You got this tonight?” Jason asked, his tone different now.
“Yeah,” she said, setting her pen down. “Didn’t go near the cargo. Just stood there. Like he was waiting for something.”
Jason squinted. “Something about that posture..”
He didn’t finish.
“I know,” she murmured. “It’s theatrical.”
He glanced sideways at her. “You thinking what I’m not supposed to be thinking?”
“No one’s laughing,” she replied quietly. “Yet.”
Jason gave a short, humorless snort. “That makes it worse.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Y/n went back to her note, flipping between photos and maps. “It’s messy. Not random messy, intentional. Like someone’s screwing with the logic just enough to confuse the timeline. A loop with no pattern. A joke with no punchline. Just chaos.”
Jason stepped closer, leaning over her shoulder to look at the notes. The heat of him at her back made her pause mid-sentence.
“You missed a number on the crate count” he murmured, voice low. His hand came down on the table besides hers, caging her in without realizing it.
“I didn’t miss it,” she said, turning slightly so they were face-to-face. “I just haven’t written it yet.”
For a second, neither moved. His eyes flicked to her lips. So quick she might’ve imagined it, before he stepped back, breaking whatever had been building.
He grabbed a pen, jotted the number in himself and tossed it onto the table like he hadn’t just looked at her like that. “Whoever’s running this, it’s deliberate. Like they want us chasing shadows.”
“Or laughing at us,” she muttered, eyes flicking to the blurry photo again.
Jason watched her. The dark circles under her eyes were fading, but he noticed how tired she looked. How tense her shoulders had stayed since the argument with Bruce.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
“Fine.” The answer came too fast. She didn’t meet his eyes.
He didn’t push it. Just said, “We’re getting close. Whoever’s pulling this, he wants us chasing our tails. But he’s slipping.”
“I hope he slips hard” she muttered, flipping over another photo.
Jason leaned in a little closer. Their shoulders bumped. The warmth of him, the steadiness, felt grounding in a way she hadn’t expected.
She didn’t say anything. Neither did he.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. “I’ll call in from my place. Go over the east dock camera feeds again,” he said, while putting his boots on, grabbing his jacket off the chair.
Y/n nodded. “I’ll work through the storage logs. Something’s got to give.”
Jason stopped at the door. “If anything feels.. off,” he hesitated for a second, “call me. No second-guessing.”
Her voice was quieter now. “Same to you.”
Their eyes held for a moment longer than necessary.
And then he was gone, leaving only the soft echo of boots on hardwood, the rain, and that damn fucking photo still staring at her.
The night air clung damp against his skin as Jason wheeled his bike out from the alley beside her apartment building. The rain had eased to a mist, slicking the empty streets in silver. He mounted up, the seat cold through his pants, and pushed off with a low grunt. The tires hissed over the wet pavement, streetlights smearing yellow across the sheen of water. Every turn of the pedals carried the echo of her still in his body, the press of her against him, the heat he couldn’t shake. By the time he reached his building, his pulse hadn’t slowed.
Jason shut his door behind him and just.. stood there.
Rain dripped off his jacket in slow rivulets onto the hardwood. He should’ve gone straight to the shower, gotten warm, and started digging through those east dock feeds. Instead, he dropped his gear like it was nothing and braced both hands on the counter, trying to breathe past the memory still burning in his head.
Her.
On top of him.
The weight of her hips pressing down, the slick heat of her grinding against him through too many layers. The way her thighs squeezed tight, trapping him in place, rain dripping from her hair onto his cheek. She’d moved, just a little, enough to make his breath stutter, enough to make him want to roll her under him and forget the rest of the damn mission.
Jason dragged a hand over his face, biting back a curse. If the flashlight hadn’t been seconds from blowing their cover, he wouldn’t tell her to keep still. He’d have told her to keep fucking moving.
In his mind, it was vivid, her hips rolling in a slow grind, heat and pressure building between them. His hands pushed under her jacket and shirt until his palms met warm, bare skin. His thumbs brushed her nipples until she gasped, trembling for him. He’d have dragged her down for a rough, messy kiss, swallowing every sound she made.
Fuck, if he’d gotten her beneath him, pants shoved just low enough to slide his fingers into her, curling until she shook in his grip, he wouldn’t have stopped until she came undone in his hand.
The ache in his jeans had him shifting, adjusting for relief.
“Get your head straight,” he muttered, pacing.
But every time he blinked, it was her again, hips grinding, rain-slick skin, his voice in her ear telling her to not move.
He hit the shower, but the heat of the water only made it worse. Steam curled thick around him as the spray pounded across his shoulders, his cock already hard, twitching at the memory. He braced one hand against the tile, breathing through the burn in his gut, but the image of her clung like a brand, every second sharper, filthier. The tension coiled tighter, his body aching with need. Unable to resist any longer, he wrapped his hand around his shaft, stroking with a desperate rhythm. The water cascaded down his back, mixing with the sweat of his exertion, as he leaned into the sensation, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. The tension built to a fever pitch, and with a final, shuddering thrust, he came, his release spilling into the stream of water, the relief washing over him even as the memory of her haunted his every thought.
As the last wave of pleasure subsided, he leaned against the tile, his chest heaving. The water continued to pour over him, cooling his flushed skin. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, but the memory of her lingered, as vivid and taunting as ever. With a heavy sigh, he turned off the shower, the sudden silence almost deafening. He stepped out, his towel riding low on his hips, still feeling the ghost of her touch, the echo of his release, and the lingering ache of desire.
Running a hand through his damp hair, Jason grabbed a pair of boxers from the laundry pile he still had to put away, quickly putting it on. He grabbed his phone and dropped into the nook by the monitors. The east dock feeds flickered on, grainy, but serviceable. Frame by frame, he scanned, then froze. A shadow moving too deliberately. A crate being loaded. The man in the oversized coat signaling in precise, almost like a waving motion. Not just hanging back, communicating.
His jaw tightened. This wasn’t some random drop. He grabbed his phone and typed:
Jason:
Something on the east dock feeds. Going to take a look.
Meanwhile Y/n was deep in her own head when the buzz of her phone cut through.
Her eyes had been closed, the memory thick and consuming. Jason’s grip firm, his hands not holding her still anymore but guiding her hips over his own, slow and deliberate. Each drag made her clit catch perfectly against the ridge of him, sending sparks up her spine.
She imagined his voice low and rough against her ear, saying exactly how good she felt, maybe even groaning about how long he’d been thinking of this. Her jacket shoved off her shoulders, shirt riding up, cold night air biting at her skin until his warm palms replaced it, cupping her breast through the thin fabric of her bra. She pictured his low curse when his thumbs found her hardened nipples, her breath catching.
Then she saw him in her mind flipping them over, his weight setting on her, thigh wedged between hers. Rain dripped from his hair as his eyes locked on hers, his hand sliding under her waistband, pushing her underwear aside without hesitation. The first stroke of his fingers made her arch, slow at first, before curling deep inside of her, hitting that spot until she bit her fist to stay quiet.
His face would be set in that hungry, focused look, like making her come right there on that rooftop was the only mission worth completing. Her hips would rock into his hand, chasing every wave, thighs trembling until the coil snapped and she came, shuddering into the crook of his neck.
But he wouldn’t stop. He’d push her over again, mouth dragging over her skin with the scrape of stubble, one strong hand holding her hips down while his tongue made her writhe. By the time he pulled back, she’d be trembling, chest heaving, mind wrecked, and he’d kiss her like he was branding the moment into her.
Her phone buzzed again, snapping her out of it.
Jason:
Something on the east dock feeds.
Going to take a look.
Y/n:
Alone?
Jason:
For now.
Her stomach clenched, she typed:
Y/n:
Send me the address.
But his answer landed like a wet blanket:
Jason:
Stay put. I’ll call if I need backup.
She stared at the screen for a moment, thighs pressing together, frustration mingling with the ache he’d stirred up. God, she wished she could go. But for now, she’d wait, left chasing the ghost of his touch.
When she finally came back to reality, Jason’s text still glowed on the screen.
Something on the east docks feeds. Going to take a look.
The words snapped through her like a live wire, heart hammering.
Think.
She started pacing, circling the room as if the answer might materialize in the air. Her eyes landed on the board, photos, grainy layouts of warehouses, scribbled notes stringing across in red thread. The pattern screamed at her now.
She pivoted to the table, scanning the scattered photos until realization hit like a punch. Her breath caught in her throat.
“No…no, no, no.”
She spun toward the bookshelf. Fingers scraped over the spines until she yanked out a battered case file, nearly tearing the binding. Old GCPD reports, her own notes, dusty photographs, every page whispered the same thing. The setups. The laughing chaos. The deliberate misdirection.
Her stomach turned to ice.
Jason wasn’t walking into a lead. He was walking into a trap.
She lunged for her phone, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug. Her thumbs hovered over his contact.
Wait. Calling could ping his location. What if I give away his location? What if someone is tracking him?
She bit her lip, breath coming fast. No, Jason wasn’t careless. He’d never keep his phone sound on in the field.
She hit call.
One ring. Two. Straight to voicemail.
“Dammit, Jay.."
She tried again. Again. Nothing.
Her chest tightened until breathing hurt. Panic clawed at the edge of her thoughts, but she forced herself to focus. If Jason wouldn’t answer…
Bruce.
The last person she wanted. The only person who would move now.
She scrolled to his number and hit dail.
“Y/n,” Bruce’s gravel-edged voice answered on the second ring, flat with annoyance. “If this is about patrol again, the answer is still-”
“No! Bruce!” Her voice cracked. “J-Jason.. He’s in danger!”
Silence. Then the sound of a chair scraping back, the subtle shift of a man suddenly alert.
“What do you mean? In danger? What did he do now?”
She shook her head before remembering he couldn’t see it. Words tumbled out, breathless and rushed. “No, we were working the case, I know you told me to rest but I cant, we went on patrol, we found a lead, he texted me he was checking it out..”
“Slow down.” Bruce’s voice sharpened, command cutting her thought of panic.
“I know who’s behind it” she blurted, chest heaving. “I don’t get how we missed it. It’s all there, all the old patterns-” She forced herself back to the point. “I tried to call him, but he won’t answer. Bruce, please, he’s in danger. We've got to do something.”
“Where is he?”
“That’s the thing, I don’t know exactly!” she blurted, frustration edging her voice. “His message only said he was heading to the east docks. That’s all I’ve got.”
Keys clacked faintly in the background. The batcomputer roared to life.
“All right,” Bruce said, calm but deadly focused. “Stay put. I’ll track what I can from here.”
A faint thunk echoed from the hallway outside her apartment.
Her head snapped up.
Muffled sounds, like someone dragging something heavy across the floor. Then a sing-song lilt seeped through the door, high and honeyed, sharp as broken glass.
Bruce’s voice sharpened over the phone as he heard the sounds over the phone.
“What was that?”
“Someone’s outside my door,” she whispered, already turning toward the entryway.
Bruce’s tone went flat with command. “Y/n. Lock down. Now.”
Her muscles coiled. “Too late for that.”
A click at the lock. Then-
BOOM!
The door exploded inward, smoke and splinters blasting across the room. The force ripped the phone from her hand and it skidded under the couch, Bruce’s voice still cracking faintly from the floor.
Through the haze, a silhouette stepped into view, hips cocked, bat slung over one shoulder. Blonde pigtails, smeared red lipstick, a grin like a switchblade.
Harley Quinn. Or Harleen Quinzel before The Joker got his crazy hands on her.
“Well, ain’t this a cozy little hidey-hole” she cooed, twirling her bat. “Thought I’d drop in and say hi, sugar.”
Y/n straightened from her crouch, calm settling over her like a second skin. No fear. Just focus.
“Cute entrance,” she said dryly, brushing splinters off her sleeve. “But you’re paying for that door.”
Harley’s grin widened. “Oh, I like you.”
Y/n smirked, dropping into a ready stance, voice edged with a dare.
“Good. You’re gonna love what happens next.”
Note: Well,well,well who've thought that? What happened to Jason? Will Y/n kick Harley's ass? Guess you've to tune in to know what will happen next🤭. Aren't they just big ass idiots?
I had a big personal beef with the texts between the batfam and the dinner scene, i wrote those over and over again.
Do we like the bigger chapter? Do you like it more in past or present tense? Let me all know. Anything is welcome.
Are You Still In This Fight, Violet?: An Ekko of Blue
‘Are you still in this fight, Violet’. That's what Caitlyn had asked a few weeks ago. Violet has said yes, confidently. Of course she was. So much had been sacrificed and lost to get to where they were. To establish peace between Zaun and Piltover. Sevika and Echo were now on the council working alongside Mel and Caitlyn herself to establish trade and unity that benefited both communities. Yet the more Vi watched, drowning amidst the political noise, the more she questioned where her heart lay.
She had not grown up in Piltover or in politics after all. She was a proverbial street rat, often getting into fights. And god she was no Piltie, she had, more often than not, stole from the piltover elite. She led her siblings on escapades, leading Milo, Claggor and Powder into trouble but also getting them out. At least most of the time… She had only failed at this once. But of course it was the one time she failed that haunted her… After all that was what had set them all on this route.
Mylo. Claggor. They flashed before her eyes. Quickly followed by Powder. Oh, Powder. Her sister. The one person she was meant to protect above all others. She had promised her mother and Vander after all. But now… Vi could not protect her sister. Could not save her. She was beyond saving. Had been beyond saving long before that fateful night. Yet still… what ifs flooded her mind.
These thoughts haunted her through the night as she gazed into the flickering fire in the same position she had been when Caitlyn had asked ‘Are you still in this fight, Violet?’
Vi swung her fists. Her metal ‘bitch-mittens’ clanging off the makeshift armour her foes were wearing. She was leading a group of enforcers against a group of Zaunites and Pilties. They were fighting against the unification of Zaun and Piltover, disdain for each other seeping through. The Zaunites did not want to be, as they deemed it, ruled by some upper class snobs whilst the people of Piltover deemed the inclusion of ‘criminals’ as a threat to their society. Yet despite that here they were working together. Cait has said that it was rather ironic given their stance. Through their mutual hatred off the Zaun-Piltie council, they had inevitably proved what the council was fighting for. A stronger, united country for all.
Vi was knocked from her thoughts by an uppercut from a Piltover woman. The woman looked shocked she had landed the hit, allowing Vi to respond with a powerful hit, knocking her clean out. That would leave a bruise in the morning. The ends of Vi’s hair, grown out now with black still at the ends, draped in front of her face as she weaved through the fight. Helping out as she could, she made her way towards the group's leader, recognizable by the blue tips of her hair and the scar along her cheek. Cait had stressed, repeatedly, that this lady was the main target. Take her out and the resistance would crumple, or at least that's what Cait believed.
Vi reached her target. Scarface (Vi hadn’t cared to learn her name) turned just as Vi swung her fist. It connected knocking her backward but not quite knocking her down. They exchanged blows; both landing equal hits. Vi’s heart beat a drum as she fought, slowly driving her foe backwards. Her aim was to get her within reach of the snipers on the undercities rooftops. There, in the middle of the square under Vanders statue she’d be where everyone could see her. See the death of their leader. Of their rebellion. It would make an example of her, show them what happened when someone undermined their unity. (Vi ignored the voice that said it was a bad idea. Wasn’t this like what they did before? That led to Powder…Jinx…becoming a hero… The voice that said there was another way. Why, oh why, did it sound like Vander?)
Distracted by her thoughts, Vi lost her upper hand and began to fall back. Scarface’s blue streak fell in front of her eyes as she swung, a crazed look in her eyes. A laugh rung out from the side. A crazed, innocent, an oh so familiar laugh… A Jinx laugh. No Powder. Jinx. Powder. Both.
Vi’s neck cricked as she looked for the source of that laugh. A long flash of blue, a braid, swung out of sight. Forgetting all other thoughts, Vi made to follow. Out of the corner of her eye, another streak of blue moved. A burning sensation followed. Then the pain. Stumbling to a halt, Violet looked down. Crimson streaked out of her side. Blood she realised distantly. Her knees hit the pavement, adding to the symphony of pain. She grabbed the knife, yanking it out. Vaguely she recognised someone else coming towards her, a stripe of blue mixing with their silhouette. Why was there so much Blue here? As the person got closer she raised her fists. She would be damned if she went without a fight. As she tried to stand, darkness began creeping towards her. Strength failing she fell forward once again this time her face bounced off the ground. As she lay there, she saw Scarface running away, slipping through the allies she’d once called home. Darkness covered her vision as she lost consciousness, leaving one thought behind.
Vi’s eyes fluttered open. Staring down at her were another pair of eyes. Intense and vibrant, Caitlyn Kirramans’ bright blue eyes were filled with worry.
‘Next time it’s my turn to look after you, Cupcake,’ Vi groaned.
Seemingly despite herself, Cait’s lips flickered in the vague promise of a smile.
‘Let's hope there isn’t a next time.’ Ever serious, Caitlyn's eyes searched her girlfriend's prone form.
‘You should see the other guy, Cupcake.’
‘I would. Except she got away. What happened out there Violet?’
Vi squirmed in her hospital bed, avoiding Cait’s eyes. ‘You know, just,’ Vi gestured vaguely. ‘Guess I got distracted’.
‘By what?’
A flash of blue. ‘I dunno’
Caitlyn’s eyes searched Vi’s looking for an answer. Sighing, she decided this was a fight for another time. ‘Very well. I will leave you to recover. I need to debrief the other councillors on the mission.’
Cait stood up and strolled out of the ward, leaving Vi feeling empty, familiar laughter echoing in her head.
‘How are you feeling?’ Caitlyn asked as Vi limped into their living room.
‘Fuckin Fantastic’
Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. ‘Now that the sarcasm is out of the way, talk to me, Violet. How are you?’
‘I'm fine Cupcake. The medics did wonders. Barely feel where I got stabbed’
‘That's not what I meant and you know it. What's going on with you, my darling?’
‘Nothing I'm fine.’
‘Violet, don't do this. Don't shut me out.’ Cait cupped Vi's face and guided it to look in her eyes. ‘It's you and me remember. We’re endgame. A team. Despite everything we always find our way back to each other. And we always will. Now do you wanna let me in?’
Vi hesitated then sighed. ‘Fine. I've been…seeing things. And hearing things. Flashes of blue. And laughter. Her laughter. Jinx…Powders laugh. Or maybe Jinxs. Or both. They blend into each other..I don't know where one ends and the other begins. I've been trying to ignore it. It's not helpful. It's stupid. It's a distraction.. I…I promised you I was still in this fight and I don't go back on promises. Last time I did, I abandoned my sister.’
‘Oh, Violet. That's what this is about. I'm so sorry. My darling. You're not breaking your promise. It was wrong of me to put pressure on you. I should have seen it.’ Caitlyn guided Vi to the couch. ‘Sit,’ she commanded. Vi did so and looked at her girlfriend's. Sitting down besides her, Cait began speaking.
‘None of it was your fault. My darling. You. Were. A. Child. I know you feel so much guilt about what happened to your sister when you were kids. It was a bout of unfortunate circumstances. You were kidnapped Vi! Marcus (may his soul Not rest in Peace) was working for Silco and threw you in prison. Yes you acted rashly but dammit Violet you had just seen your father figure and brothers die. You handled it better than many would. You tried to go back for Powder and as soon as you got out of prison you tried to find her. Whatever you did, you never gave up on her. None of that sounds like someone who willingly left her sister behind. You need to know that.’
Vi looked away. She'd never admit it but she felt like crying. She'd had so much weight on her shoulders since she was a child. And to be without it, to share the burden with someone ….felt weird. She'd sought responsibility, wanting to feel useful and to distract herself. She didn't want to lose anyone again due to her own actions. It felt…nice that Cait was still here and that she had noticed when something was wrong. But still…that guilt ate away at her.
‘And,’ Cait interrupted her musings, ‘Jinx's death was not your fault. None of it was. We were dealing with things beyond either of us. Forces conspired against us…and against her. She made her choice. Both the choice to come back and the choice to let herself go. Ekko told us about the state of her when he found her and he gave her hope again in the time before the battle. She was happier than she'd probably been in a while. And she chose to save you. She loved you so much. We may not have agreed on…anything but I do know that. She wanted you to be happy. And oh my darling, I know it's hard but I'm with you. Through everything. I'm not letting anything tear us apart ever again, ok? I know I can't heal you as much as I want to. I can't make everything better. But I will be with you the entire time. And hopefully time will do it's job. The only fight I want you to be in now, is your own.’
Vi nodded. Cait always was the one good at big speeches.
‘I love you Mongoose,’ she said with a watery smile.
‘I love you too Violet.’ Cait chuckled.
This time Vi leaned her head on Cait's shoulder. It wasn't perfect and it hurt but she was not alone. She would never be alone again. Finally, she didn't need to fight for herself. There was someone who would fight for her. Life hurt and life was a bitch but goddammit there was something worth, not just fighting for, but living for.
Summary: Just friends? A late night in the Batcave, some good timing, and a whole lot of unresolved tension. Things get... interesting.
Warning: Cursing, slight sexual tension
Note: This is my very first fic, please be nice. English isn't my first language!! More at the end. Enjoy reading!
Like, reblog or leave a comment is very much appreciated!!!
Another rainy night in Gotham.
Y/N sits hunched in front of the Batcomputer, eyes strained, shoulders tight. She’s been combing through files and notes, evidence Bruce and she have been gathering over the past few weeks, trying to make sense of a case that’s going nowhere. There’s so much information, but none of it connects in any meaningful way.
She leans closer to the screen, her face scrunched up in concentration, fingers tangled in her hair out of frustration. The cave is silent, aside from the humming of the Batcomputer and the occasional sound of her typing or clicking of her mouse.
Suddenly, she hears footsteps across the room. She turns her head towards the sound and relaxes a bit when she sees it’s Jason, knowing there is no immediate threat.
He’s still in his gear from his nightly patrols, helmet in his hands, eyes scanning her from across the room. He walks up to her, posture casual.
“Hey, Y/N” he says, leaning against the edge of the desk. His curiosity gets the best of him when he sees the state she’s in
“What’ve you been up to all night?” He asked, glancing sideways at the screen filled with all the notes and files.
Y/N leans back in her chair, let’s out a deep sigh
“Organizing some boring case files. Nothing too spectacular. What about you?” she asks Jason.
He lets out a soft chuckle, shrugs his shoulders
“Just your usual patrol stuff. Some thugs thinking they can get away with being dumb. Nothing out of the ordinary”.
His eyes return to the screen , focusing on the case file.
“Are you sure it’s just some boring file stuff? You look like you’re about to lose it. Doesn’t seem boring to me”.
She lets out another sigh, knowing Jason can see right through her attempt at nonchalance.
“It’s a case Bruce and I have been working on for weeks, but all these notes don't make sense, it’s all very disjointed”.
Jason nods, a serious look crossing his face. He knows the frustration of being stuck on the same thing for ages. He turns towards the computer.
“Mind if I take a look?”
She rolls her chair back a bit, giving him some space to look
“Please be my guest. Maybe some fresh eyes might help”.
Jason leans over the desk a bit, his still gloved hands tapping on the desk as he examines the file. He hums slightly to himself when he recognizes connections. Y/N eyes drift to Jason’s hand, then slowly up his arm to the back of his head. Her eyes snap back to his hands when he scrolls down the page.
She clears her throat , trying to banish the unholy thoughts racing through her mind that she is having about her friend, even though she wishes it was different. The sound catches Jason’s attention, and he turns towards to her,
“Found anything?”she blurts out quickly.
“I get what you mean. There's a lot here, but nothing concrete. Where’s Bruce when you need him, huh?” He says, the last part with a sarcastic chuckle, old wounds of their past still lurking on the surface. She offers him a small smile.
“I have been wondering that for a while now,” she says dryly, the frustration clearly evident on her face.
Jason grins, appreciating that she doesn’t launch into a rant about Bruce looking for him and what not.
“Yeah, sounds about right. The old man wants to help anywhere he can, even when he doesn’t have the time for it. So he gets others to do it for him”.
She gives him a firm nod.
“That’s true. He means well, but others have to fix it. At first, we did this together, but I’ve been on my own for about.. 3 weeks now?” She rolls her tense neck, hoping it will bring her some relief.
Jason leans back, crossing his arms over his chest as he gives the case another look. His expressions shift to thoughtful, the gears in his mind clearly working overtime.
“You know, sometimes it helps to take a step back and do something else. You might be missing something because you’ve been staring at the screen for too long”.
Her eyes darted between Jason and the computer.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I have been staring at it for hours”.
Jason nods, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips.
“Of course I’m right, when am I not?” he says with a shrug.
Despite the teasing, Jason understands her. He knows what’s like to be stuck on a case, buried in frustration.
”You should take a break. Clear your head a little. Maybe eat something? Most of the time, the answer comes when you least expect it”.
He glances over her exhausted form, the bag under her eyes. He can’t ignore the protectiveness he feels growing inside him. He’s been in this situation more times than he can count, and it’s not a place he wants her to stay in.
“When was the last time you slept? You look rough” he asks, tone half serious, half concerned.
She narrows her eyes at him, “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you Jay?”
He chuckles softly
”You know what I mean, sweetheart. You’d still look good wearing a trash bag.”
She blinks, surprised by Jasons’s comment, Did he just say that I look good no matter what? She thinks to herself
“Uhm what day is it?” She asks, clearing her throat, her expression genuinely confused. Jason bursts out laughing, half amused, half shocked. A smirk creeps across his face. "Seriously?" Is this a ‘I lost track of time’ joke or do you actually have no clue what day it is?”.
She lets out a dry laugh, shrugging slightly.
“Honestly? Both.” He rolls his eyes, still grinning.
“Okay, then. Honestly, what day do you think it is?” He asks her.
She lets out a deep sigh, trying to calculate when she started and how many hours she might’ve been sitting here.
“Uhm.. is it Wednesday?” she offers, uncertainty thick in her voice.
Jason raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening into a full blown grin.
”Wrong. You're two days off, sweetheart. It's Friday.”
He steps behind her, grabs the back of her desk chair,and rolls it away from the desk. “It’s official, you’ve lost track of time, Come on, Y/N. You’re getting out of here, whether you like it or not.”
She looks at him, clearly displeased. She knows she needs to rest, but the thought of leaving the case unresolved eats at her.
”But we have to get this case done, Jay. I can rest after that.”
Jason sighs, his expression turning serious as he studies her determined face. He gets it, he’s been there. But her health is just more important right now.
“ Y/N, you’re not gonna get anything done if you’re half asleep and running on caffeine. Trust me, I’ve been there. Your brain can only handle so much before it starts to crash.” He crouches down a little so they’re eye level, placing his hands gently on her shoulders, massaging them slightly.
”You’re pushing too hard. You’re smart, you’ll crack this case in no time. It'll still be here tomorrow, and you’ve have me to pick up the slack.”
Jason raises an eyebrow in a jokingly cocky way
,”Now come on, let’s get you out of here. Otherwise, the darkness will consume you” he adds with a playful smirk.
His expression leaves no room for argument. His tone is stern but affectionate.
Y/n lets out another sigh, a part of her wondering if she could convince him to stay instead.
“If you don’t cooperate, I’ll have to use force. I’ll throw you over my shoulder if I have to.” he warns
Y/N gives him a sly smirk,
”I’d like to see you try, big boy”, She teases, leaning back in her chair.
“Don’t try me, darling. You know I will.”
He grabs her wrist, slowly bringing it over his shoulder, giving her the chance to change her mind.
“Okay, okay, okay! Have it your way, Jason.” Y/n laughs, giving in, knowing full well he wasn’t bluffing. He would toss her over his shoulder like a rag doll without hesitation.
A smug look crosses his face. The truth, he wouldn’t have minded just doing that, but he is glad she was willing to listen to him.
“You’ll thank me for it in the morning”
Jason grabs her wrist and pulls her out of her chair.
“What was that?” she teases. “ I couldn’t hear you over your massive ego.”
He rolls his eyes with a smirk.
“Oh haha, Sass me all you want, but you know damn well I'm right. You might be a genius, but you’re still human. And humans need to rest”.
He pulls her towards the elevator, his hand still holding her wrist in a loose but steady grip. As the elevator doors open with a ding, he gives her a playful jab in her ribs. She jumps from the jab, pushes his hand away in a mock annoyed manner.
“You know, you’re cute when you’re tired. I think you’re losing some of your bite.”
His hand moves down to cup hers, giving it a gentle squeeze, just to let her know he is only joking. Jason does it without giving it a second thought, it felt so normal to do. She won’t mind it, right? But what if she does. Knowing her she will just pull away if she doesn't want it he thinks to himself.
She blushes slightly at his actions and words but it’s Jason we’re talking about. He probably means nothing by it. Still his hand feels nice. And if he doesn't pull away, why would I? She wonders.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be back in no time.” She says, quickly gathering her confidence.
Jason smirks, but it softens into something more tender. He’s familiar with her stubbornness and determined spirit, and knows that she’ll be back to her usual self in no time.
The elevator dings again, and he gently pulls her out into the living area. It’s as fancy as expected, a big, sparkly chandelier on the ceiling, brown leather couches, and a red rug that probably costs more than her monthly rent. He walks to the couch, looks at her, then gestures subtly with his eyes towards the cushions, a silent invitation.
Y/n follows his gaze and understands what he means without a word. She sits down on the couch.
“Are you hungry? I can ask Alfred to make you something, if you want” he asks gently.
Y/n checks her watch, then at Jason, “Uhm, Jay, I don’t think Alfred would appreciate being woken up at this hour, for something like that”.
Jason chuckles. “You know he wouldn’t mind it because it’s you. But yeah , you’re probably right. He already has Bruce’s schedule to deal with”.
She grins at him cockily. “To quote someone I know : ‘of course I'm right, when am I not?”. Jason gives her a mock death stare, “Don’t use my own words against me.”
She lets out a small giggle, which catches him off guard.
“You make it so easy for me. You should feel honored that I use your words to prove my point”.
Jason plops down beside her, nudging her shoulder with his.
“Oh, I feel so honored that Y/n L/n use my words as an example. Truly, nothing can top this moment” he says sarcastically.
She rolls her eyes playfully.
“If I remember correctly, I’m in the presence of the only other person that’s allowed to cook in Alfred’s kitchen. So why don’t you be a kitchen princess and make me some food”.
He gasps, placing a dramatic hand over his chest.
“First, you use my own words against me. Now you exploit my well earned privileges?”. Y/n laughs, shaking her head.
“Why else would I be friends with you? Of course I use you for your privileges. And don’t do that, as much as I like your brother, that was a Dick move.”
Jason bursts out laughing. He knows exactly how dramatic Dick can be.
“But you like me more than Dick, just admit it.”
She turns to him and tilts her head slightly.
“And why would that be?”
Jason's eyes glint with mischief. He stretches his arms out and starts poking her side again and again.
“What did you say? Jason, I like you so much more than Dick? Did I hear that right?”
he teases, now tickling her sides mercilessly.
Y/n’s laughter grows louder, gasping for air. “Jason, stop, I can't breathe!” she manages between giggles, squirming to escape.
“Say it and I’ll stop. Easy peasy”, Jason grins.
Y/n doesn’t want to let go of her pride, but she’s nearly choking on her own laughter.
”Okay! fine, I like you more than Dick!”. Jason stops instantly,
”See? Was that so hard? I know the truth can be tough to admit, but damn, woman.”
Y/n catches her breath, “I didn’t know you were that needy, Jay. If you’re lacking something, you can always let me know”. She wiggles her eyebrows at him teasingly. He clenches his jaw, his cheeks darkening.
He knows she’s just messing with him, but how he wishes he could just tell her the truth. He wants her. Not just sometimes, all the time. The way she looks breathless in his arms right now.. he can only imagine how she’d sound, under him.
"Jay? You there?”
Y/n waves her hand in front of his face, then snaps her fingers a few times.
Jason blinks like he’s coming out of a trance.
“Hmm?”
“You spaced out” she says softly.
Jason scratches the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish.
“Yeah.. just tired, I guess”.
She tilts her head slightly. “You sure? I lost you for a sec. Where’d your mind go?”
He nods, not trusting himself to say more. He doesn’t want to make things awkward. Not when this moment feels so damn good.
“It’s nothing important. Nothing to worry about. Uhm food?”
“Yes, what’s Chef Todd gonna make for me?”
Jason gets up from the couch and gestures for her to follow him to the kitchen. As they walk to the kitchen, Y/n can’t help but replay Jason’s strange reaction. Did I say something wrong? But no, this is how they always talk
Jason pushes the door open of the kitchen, the same kitchen Alfred is so proud of, the one the rest of the bat family is banned from using. Especially after Bruce nearly burnt it down trying to make a plain omelette. Jason holds the door open for Y/n, and she steps through..
“How about a 5 star meal, huh? Anything for her majesty”, Jason says with a dramatic bow. Y/n laughs softly, playing along,
“And what would that be, Sir Todd?” Jason grins, inhaling deeply like a chef about to unveil his grand plan.
”Pancakes!!” he announces.
She tries to hold in her reaction, but a snorted laugh escapes. Y/n quickly gathers and regains her composure.
”Ah, what a fine cuisine, I expected nothing less”. As Jason gathers the ingredients for his so called ‘5 star dish’, she notices that he’s still in his gear from patrol.
"Jason? Don’t you wanna change your clothes? Make yourself a little more comfortable?”
Jason looks down at his clothes because of her words, “You’re probably right.”
She gives him a smirk, and he points at her “Don’t” he warns.
She throws her hands up in mock surrender, “ I wasn’t gonna say anything!”
He narrows his eyes playfully at her words.
”No, but you were thinking it”.
While Jason heads off to change, Y/n scrolls aimlessly though her phone, though her mind is still caught up in the case. She stares at the screen, not really seeing it.
She’s so deep in thought that she doesn’t notice Jason getting back into the kitchen. He stands in front of her and waves his hand in front of her face, which causes her to snap back into reality.
“Just let it go for a bit, will you?” He says gently, wanting her to relax.
She blinks, startled, and looks up at him.
“How do you even know I was thinking about that?”
Jason gives her a look that’s equal parts smug and fond.
“First of all, spending your teenage years being trained by the “world's greatest” detective teaches you that. Second, it’s written all over your face, darling”.
Y/n lets out a deep sigh, then shifts the mood.
“So pancakes?”
”Yes, pancakes”, he says, stretching the word like it’s sacred "I'm about to make you the best pancakes you ever had. After tonight, you’ll never want anyone else’s.”
She raises an eyebrow, amused.
”That’s a bold claim” she says to Jason.
“It’s only bold if you’re bluffing”. He winks “And I’m not”.
She claps her hands together. “Alright, let's see what you got, Pancake Master!”
Jason gives her a playful grin and he turns his back to her, grabbing the ingredients. “It’s all about the fluffiness. The fluffier they are, the better they taste. Light, airy, melt in your mouth, none of that boring, everyday pancakes.” He turns to her again, pointing his finger in a mocking warning. “Take notes.”
“I thought I was just getting food,” she says with a smirk. “Not a cooking class.”
“Do you want your food or not?” She laughs and nods quickly, allowing him to resume. He continues with a mix of confidence and flair.
“First tip: separate your egg yolks from the whites. Beat the egg whites until they’re light and fluffy, like clouds.” As he speaks, he cracks an egg one handed, smoothly separating the yolk and the white. His forearms flexes slightly with the motion. Y/n watches him, eyes fixed a little too long. Her lips part slightly.
“Wish you spread me open like that” Y/n mutters under her breath, barely audible.
Her brain immediately screams at her. Did I just really say that out loud?
Jason pauses. “What was that?” Her eyes go wide. “Nothing! Just.. just keep going.”
He squints, clearly not convinced. "No, no. I definitely heard something.” A teasing smirk tugs at his lips. “Be a good girl and use your words.”
Her face flushes warm instantly. She fumbles, tripping over her words.
“I said that you’re a great chef. And I'm.. enjoying the show” Jason tilts his head, still smirking, but lets it go, for now.
“Hm, I’ll let that slide, since I’m a good chef. But I wouldn’t try it again if I were you.” he points his whisk her way like a warning. She recovers just enough to throw him a daring grin.
“Sounds like a challenge to me”.
Jason rolls his eyes at her words.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice curious.
Jason glances at her
“Just making sure you aren’t poisoning me,” she adds with an innocent smile.
“Of course I won't poison you,” Jason replies smoothly. “ I will smother you in your sleep” She snorts, like that’s the most normal thing to say. But it’s for them, so it is.
After folding the egg yolks with the whipped egg white, Jason scoops a portion of batter into the pan with an ice cream scooper.
“Need any help?” she asks, leaning over the counter slightly, watching him work.
Jason looks over his shoulder.
“Nah. Sit your cute ass down. I got this.” Y/n snorts.
“You’ve got a smooth mouth, Jay.”
He smirks. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
She raises an eyebrow, amused and a little caught off guard. The kitchen lights cast a soft glow on him. His hair’s a mess, and there’s a smear of flour on his cheek. He looks stupidly good for someone who just got off patrol.
“Damn” she mutters under her breath, not realizing she said it out loud,
Jason’s head turns. “Hmm?”
“Nothing”she says quickly, waving it off.
But Jason grins, he heard her. Loud and clear. He doesn’t need to say anything though. Just keeps flipping pancakes with a smug little smile on his face.
Ten minutes later, he slides a plate in front of her. The pancakes are golden and fluffy, topped with syrup and some chocolate chips.
“You made aesthetic pancakes?’ she asks, blinking.
“Who are you and what have you done with Jason Todd?”
He sits next to her, hands her a fork.
“Shut up and eat?”
She stabs a bite and takes a mouthful. Her eyes widen. “Holy crap.”
“Told you” he says, smug. “I’ve got many talents.”
“You keep surprising me”she says, still chewing
“Honestly, this is better than any diner food in Gotham.”
Jason leans back on his chair, watching her eat.
“Glad you’re finally relaxing.”
She glances at him, softer now. “Thanks.. really. I think I needed this more than I realized.” Jason shrugs, trying not to look too affected.
“You'd do the same for me.”
Silence stretches between them, not awkward, but thick with something unspoken.
Y/n pushes her plate to the side, then leans back, stretching with a small yawn.
Jason watches her form from the corner of his eye. She’s glowing in the soft kitchen light, still sleepy, but more at peace than she has been in days.
He reaches out, brushing a crumb from her cheek with his thumb.
“You had something..” he murmurs. Y/n freezes. His hand lingers just a moment too long. Her breath catches in her throat.
Then,
“Are you two seriously flirting right now?”
They both jolt and whip around towards the voice.
Damian is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression completely unimpressed.
“You do realize it’s almost four in the morning, right?” he grumbles.
Jason groans. “Jesus, dami, what are you, the flirting police now?”
Y/n chokes on a laugh.
“I came because I smelled pancakes.” Damian mutters. “Instead I walk into whatever… this is.”
Jason stands and hands him his plate.
“Here. Take your damn pancakes and go.”
Damian snatches it without hesitation. “Tch. If Alfred were awake, these would’ve been better.”
“Don’t push it.” Jason warns
Damian glances at Y/n. “You look better than you did earlier. I assume that’s Jason’s doing?”
She blinks. “Uhm, yeah he helped.”
Damian gives Jason a skeptical look. “Hmph. Guess even a broken clock is right twice a day.”
Jason looks personally offended. Damian disappears down the hallway again, leaving them in a stunned silence.
After a long beat, Y/n turns to Jason.
“Did we just get roasted by a nine year old?’
Jason exhales slowly, dragging a hand over his face.
“Yup.” He leans back again with a low laugh. Y/n joins him, shoulders shaking from trying not to laugh too loudly.
The moment settles again. Calm. Cozy. Real.
She leans her head against his shoulder. Jason doesn’t flinch, just shifts slightly to get more comfortable. “You okay?” she murmurs.
“Yeah” he says quietly. “You?”
She nods. “Better now.”
“I’m still not very tired. You can go to sleep if you want. Thank you for pulling me away from the screen.” She says to Jason.
He looks at her like she has three heads,
” You haven’t slept in three days and you’re not tired?” he asked, baffled.
“I’ve probably been awake so long that I got over the tiredness. I won’t stay up much longer, I swear” she replies with a soft smile.
Jason doesn’t wanna leave her alone, especially not after being awake for so long. He starts thinking of excuses to stay close to her.
“We could watch a movie, if you want?” Jason offers, slightly nervous, hoping she doesn’t think he desperately wants to be near her.
“You don’t have to do that, Jason. You can go to sleep, I will be fine.”
Jason clicks his tongue.
”I’m not tired either. The adrenaline from patrol keeps me up for a few hours anyway. So.. movie?”
She studies Jason’s face to see if he was serious. He is.
”Yeah, a movie sounds nice.” She says with a soft smile
Jason puts their plates in the dishwasher and leads her towards the living room. She’s been to the manor countless times and knows where the way, but she doesn’t mind letting Jason lead. Jason settles into the corner of the couch and grabs the remote control. She sits besides Jason, not too close, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.
“So, what movie did you have in mind?” she asks, turning towards him, curiosity in her voice.
“Well, that depends on your mood.” Jason replies.
”We could do comedy, action, horror, thriller, documentary or even lovely dovey romance for the lady. Or we could mix genres. Whatever you want.”
She raises a brow.
“That’s kind of sexist, isn’t it Jason? Just because I’m a girl, I must like romance?”
“I didn’t mean it like that! Of course not, it’s not because you’re just a girl?” Jason stammers, nervously scratching his head. Why am I being so stupid tonight? I finally have her to myself and I keep saying dumb shit, come on Jason.
“I’m just fucking with you, Jay.” she says, grinning. “ I know you don’t mean it like that. But I’m not just a girl, huh? So what am I then?”
Jason opens his mouth , then shuts it. He tries to find the right words that won’t make things awkward.
“You’re not just a girl.. you’re my friend. Who happens to be a girl.” Jason mumbles with an awkward smile.
. Yeah great save, dude. Really nailed it. ‘ You’re not just a girl, you’re my friend’. Can you be more cringe? Jason mentally facepalms..
“Ah, okay.” Y/n replies, nodding as she scratches her nose and looks away.
“We could just see what’s on tv instead. Then we don’t have to think anymore. After these past few days, I’d like to stop thinking for a while” She mutters, picking at her nails.
Jason nods.
“Yeah, let’s do that. Give that brain of yours some rest” he says softly. He hands her the remote control, nodding toward the tv.
Y/n gently takes the remote out of his hands, her fingertips brushing against the back of his hand.
Jason sharply inhaled at the soft touch.
Y/n scouring through the channels, looking for a decent movie. But what can you really expect to find at 4 am? She settles on a bad movie, it doesn’t matter. It’s just something to watch.
As they settle in, Jason’s gaze lingers on her features, admiring how the soft glow of the screen lights up her face. His heart flutters. He subtly shifts closer to her, the couch dipping slightly with his weight. The movie plays, its plot slowly unfolding, but Jason's attention is somewhere, on the intriguing woman beside him.
Y/n , in turn, is keenly aware of his proximity.
The warmth from his body sends a shiver down her spine, a quiet tension in the air.
She tries to act engrossed in the movie, but every so often, she steals a glance at him from the corner of her eye, her heart racing. A romantic scene unfolds on the screen, characters confessing their love. Jason struggles to focus, his thoughts wandering.
What if that was us?
He subconsciously scooted even closer, his knee gently brushing against hers, testing the waters.
Y/n slightly turns her body, a small portion of her back resting against Jason's shoulder as she kicks off her shoes and pulls her feet up onto the couch.
Jason's breath hitches at the sudden contact, her warmth now pressing gently against him. A jolt of electricity shoots through his chest, and without thinking, his arm shifts to rest along the back of the couch behind her. His eyes stay on the screen, but the movie’s plot is already a blur,his focus is entirely on the women besides him. Her presence is both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. His heart pounds against his ribcage, each beat a reminder of how close she was.
As Y/n leans in a little more, her body fits perfectly against his. Jason doesn’t fight the pull, he can’t. His arm slides down, wrapping gently around her shoulders and drawing her closer. The contact is intoxicating, the heat of her skin seeping through the layers of clothing and settling his nerves alight. His fingers fidgeted with the couch’s cushion, his self-control weakening with every passing second.
The movie keeps playing, forgotten. Jason's eyes trace over Y/n’s face, following the delicate contours of her features, his gaze lingering on her lips. The urge to close the gap between them, to capture her lips in a tender kiss, was nearly overwhelming. But he doesn’t move. Desire simmers beneath the surface, clashing with hesitation. His fingers drum softly against the cushion, caught in the quiet chaos of wanting more but fearing too much.
Jason slumps further into the couch, his feet stretching out onto the coffee table. Y/n instinctively slides closer, snuggling against his side. Their bodies align effortlessly, the contact both comforting and tantalizing. She leans her head against his shoulder.
“Be glad I told you to change,” she mumbles.
“If you still had your boots on and did this, Alfred would’ve given you hell for putting your feet on the coffee table.”
Jason chuckles, his arm tightening around her.
“Yeah, I can already hear him lecturing me about ruining the furniture.”
Y/n grins at his Alfred impression.
“ Oh, totally. He’d give you that disapproving look, eyebrows furrowed, voice all clipped.”
She mimics, “Master Jason, please refrain from placing your dirty boots on the furniture.”
Jason bursts out laughing. “That’s spot on. He’s got a way of making you feel guilty for the furniture.”
His hand, still wrapped around her shoulder, starts drawing lazy circles.
“He means well,” Y/n says, shrugging. “And, let’s be honest, the furniture in this room alone could buy you a small house.”
Jason huffs out a laugh. “Bruce does have taste, expensive, museum level taste.”
“I expected nothing less from a billionaire” she teases.
Jason smirks.
“Old money and drama. The Wayne fortune leans a little.. extravagant.”
“True.” Y/n mutters, nodding.
Jason watches her quietly, his gaze soft. She’s never cared about the wealth or status, and he finds it grounding, refreshing.
“You know, most people get starstruck when they walk in here.”
“I kinda was at first,” she admits “But after a while, you stop noticing.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, it fades. You start focusing on what matters, like how ridiculously
comfy these couches are.”
“Ugh, yes! You’d never expect it by looking at them!” she says, dramatic.
Jason laughs again, shifting deeper into the couch. His arm instinctively pulls her closer. Y/n giggles softly, reacting to his movement.
Jason smiles at the sound. “What? I’m making a point here. These couches are dangerous.”
Y/n closes her eyes and nods, lips slightly pouting as she sinks further into him.
Jason watches her, enchanted. Her pout. Her warmth. The way she molds into him. He gently brushes a lock of hair from her face.
You look so damn cute when you do that.
She relaxes further, her body melting into his. Jason catches the faint scent of her perfume, warm and floral. His hand drifts from her shoulder to her arm, fingers tracing slow, absentminded paths. Y/n shifts a bit so she lays more on his chest instead of his shoulder. Jason adjusts, letting his arm cradle her fully. Her head rest on his chest, the steady beat of his heart in her ear. It feels natural, like she belongs there.
Her breath is soft and rhythmic against his skin, sending jolts through him. He holds her tighter, as if afraid she’ll slip away. The line between friendship and something more blurs. Neither pulls back.
Jason tries to focus on the movie, but it’s pointless. All he sees is her. Her lips. Her lashes. The way her chest rises and falls. He steals glances, fingers still trailing idle shapes on her arm.
Y/n yawns, her eyelids heavy. Jason smiles softly.
“Tired?” he whispers, brushing his fingers through her hair.
“Just a little” she murmurs into his shirt.
“Close your eyes, then,” he says gently. “No need to fight it.”
She hums, sinking deeper into him. Her head shifts onto his chest, his heartbeat a steady lullaby. Jason strokes her hair, tender and slow. She breathes steadily, lips parted in sleep. Jason watches her, mesmerized by her peace. Vulnerable. Soft. Beautiful. A wave of protectiveness washes over him. His hand shifts down to her waist, more possessive now. She stirs, her face nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Her breath fans against his skin. He shivers but doesn’t move. His fingers trace her hip.
He knows he’s in trouble. This feels like more than just comfort. His feelings are no longer hiding. He wants her. But he doesn’t move. He simply holds her, arms wrapped tight. Eventually sleep wins.
Roughly four hours later, a throat clears in the distance. Then again, louder.
Jason’s eyes crack open, vision blurry. He groans and rubs his face, only to find Damian standing a few feet away, arms crossed expression sharp.
“What do you want, demon spawn?”
“You’re in my spot,” Damian says flatly.
Jason groans again, glancing down at Y/n, still curled into him. “You’re seriously waking me up.. for a spot?”
Damian scowls.
“It’s 8am and I watch my show here. Every morning.”
Jason narrows his eyes.
“Watch it somewhere else. There are, like, six different couches in this house.”
Damian doesn’t budge.
“This one has the best angle.”
Y/n stirs against Jason, her voice groggy.
“What’s going on?”
“Just your favorite bat brat being a pain in my ass.” Jason mutters
Y/n rubs her eyes and sits up slightly, blinking between the two.
“Damian.. there are two other couches in this room. Why this one?”
Y/n, still half asleep, gently moves Jason’s hand from her waist and tugs him up.
“He’s right, Jason. Let him watch in peace” she says with mock politeness, her face faintly flushed.
Jason stumbles to his feet, caught off guard by her sudden move. She’s still holding his hand. Damian smirks faintly, at the interaction but says nothing. Jason shoots him a glare. Y/n leads Jason out, her grip firm, her expression unreadable.
“You know,” she mutters once they are alone, “I once saw him argue with Alfred and Bruce for breathing too loud during one of his shows. You don’t win these battles.”
Jason chuckles. “Kid’s more stubborn than Bruce.”
“I think you mean yourself” she stated. Jason rolls his eyes playfully.
They walk through the manor’s quiet halls, hand in hand. The intimacy of the moment makes Jason’s chest tighten. Her hand is soft, her presence calming.
“I should get going. Sleep, shower, maybe reset a bit before I jump back in.”
She smiles lightly.
“Thanks, though. If you hadn’t pulled me away this would’ve been night four with no sleep.”
Jason’s heart aches at that
“You seriously need to take care of yourself,” he says softly. “Three nights? That’s dangerous.”
“I know” she says defensively. “But don’t act like you haven’t done it too.”
Jason exhales.
“Yeah, but it’s still dumb. For both of us.”
“I promise it won’t happen again.” She holds up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
Jason chuckles. “Alright. But if I catch you pushing yourself again, I will tie you to your bed.”
Y/n gasps, lips quirking. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Jay.”
He chokes on a breath. Don’t go there, he warns himself, but it’s too late. She tied up to her bed, himself standing above her. He clears his throat, cheeks warming.
“Careful,” he says, voice lower. “You might get what you’re asking for, baby”
Y/n’s breath hitches at the nickname. Her pulse quickens. Jason notices.
“I might call your bluff” she says, tilting her head.
Jason’s eyes darken. He steps closer. “You really think I bluff about things like that?”
Before he can say more..
“That’s impossible!” Damian’s voice echoes through the hall.
The moment shatters. Jason sighs, frustrated. “Worst. Timing.”
Y/n chuckles softly.
“I should go.” She takes a step back, still flustered.
“But hey, you make a great pillow. All those chest workouts finally paid off.”
Jason smirks.
“I train for more than just pillow duty, thank you very much.”
She squeezes his hand, then lets go.
“You should freshen up too. You’ve been in this manor longer than you have been in years.”
He runs a hand through his hair.
“Probably true. I forgot where the showers even are.”
“Bye, Jay,” she says, opening the door.
Jason watches her, reluctant to let her go.
“Take care, alright? And remember..”
“That you’ll tie me down if I don’t? How could I forget.” She smirks over her shoulder.
Jason’s jaw tightens. She closes the door with that smirk still on her face. He stands there for a second, hand still slightly raised. “God dammit,” he mutters
“I’m so fucked.”
Note: This is my very first fic! I have been on tumblr for more than 12 years and I never gave it a try, till like 4/5 weeks ago. My friend had convinced me that I should give it a try. It was more fun than exprected, but please let me know what you think of it.
Side rant: On my part, tumblr added all the space at the end and i couldn't be bother so delete all of them, so sorry
Edit: I have dyslexia so there bound to be spelling mistakes, I hope it didn’t ruin the fun
'Don't tell me you plan to defeat me with the power of love,' the Villain sneered, looking down at the tied-up hero
'Love...or hate,' the hero replied. 'After all, they're often said to be two sides of the same coin.' The hero slipped out of their bonds. 'And regardless of which side faces up, it can still be used the same'
*insert action scene*
Had this thought last night. Hopefully, you can see my vision 😂
It's Juneteenth yall. And I'm not letting this day go unmarked.
Black people fight for everybody. We stand in solidarity with women, lgbt people, poor people all over the world of every skin color and background. Every religion and nationality.
Today, stand with us. Be with us. Tell a black person you love them. Hug a black person (with consent). Ask that hot black girl out today. Make a black person smile. Black lives matter to everybody and you matter to us.
Stand with us on Juneteenth like we stand with you all year round, and I hope a happy Pride month continues for all of us
picrew chain time!! make yourself a cheeky little icon using this picrew, reblog & tag ur pals!! to start us off: @lightyaoigami @lightyakami @deelavis @dreamfilleddonuts @catboymettaton @vorareromantic @queer-omens-in-the-archives
I look grumpy, but I really just couldn’t find a better fitting eye shape. Apologies.
@inezrable @puppyfurios @blood-loving-leech @luckynebulae @rainforestferns @thecrazyalchemist @blackmetalbats @critterofthenight @criticaloser @embracing-the-ineffable @gideon2 + anyone else! Please message me if you want to be added or taken off this list.
Firstly, when you get this, you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-nego-tiable, positivity is cool)
ahhh okay okay
i like my music taste (does that count)
i like my skin and how its not pale asf (relatively tan without trying)
i like the fact my chest is tiny and i could pass without a bra on (itty bitty titty committee ykwis) (yay easy euphoria)
i like how im able to interact with literally anyone online and be besties with random people (complete opposite irl but whatever)
i like that im able to write and it turn out semi-decent :>
3. I love the way I interact with others and try my best to make them feel loved
4. I love my singing voice, writing style, painting skills, and my general affinity for the arts
5. I love my perseverance and my willingness to move onward even when things get tough
@jammahanna @thegracefulroyaltownofthesaint @the-gay-rat @ozzysboneyard @st4rboyloser @thisusedtobeafanpage @stargazin-on-mars @linlovesnoodles @lyninabin @punkerpluss @bonsai-burns-bright-blue (is that your main?) @what-even-is-thiss @koko-blueturtle @demigod-jack-hearth +open tagz (I wanted to @ the goats of asgard or smt but I forgot their @ 😔)
2. I like my hair and I like that it looks good buzzed or longer and fluffy (everyone tells me I have a really good head shape for a buzz cut which is surprisingly not the weirdest compliment I’ve gotten😂)
3. I like that I’ve been relatively healthy my whole life (knock on wood)
4. I like my singing voice and I’m proud of myself for working so long to improve it
5. I like that I’m open-minded, both with overcoming my biases and with trying new things (as long as they’re not scary or dangerous)
Coping with some shit rn and being tagged by @atlasspade honestly helps! Thank you very much!
Favorite Color: Yellow and periwinkle blue and do not make me choose between the two
Last Song You Listened To: I Always Wanna Die (Sometimes) by The 1975
Currently Reading: The Odyssey. I know, I mentioned reading it like two months ago, it's going slow.
Currently Watching: Another comfort piece... Ugly Betty
Currently Craving: hugs and reassurance
Coffee or Tea: Black tea
Don't be a stranger <3 @lilsnatch @pinkberrytea @mercymaker @steel-valiant @not-those-kids and @song-writer-melo-wrath (even though I have a feeling I know answers lmao)
I was tagged by my friend @treshmind. Thanks a lot, darling.😉
Favorite Color: Purple💜
Last Song: A Cruel Angel's Thesis - Ricard Cruz's cover
Currently Reading: This cursed website (STILL having trouble reading books because of my ADHD squirrel brain🐿😥😭)
Currently Watching: Steins;Gate (Still on it.😅😥 Too much on my plate right now, so I didn't have to make much progress yet)
Currently Craving: Ice-cream.🍨
Coffee or Tea: I love both💚… But Lemongrass Tea is one of my favorite drinks ever, so I’ll go with that one.
I've acquired lots of new mutuals since the last time I did this one... Which I still find utterly baffling, considering how unfocused and idiosyncratic my blog is.😳 But if they find any value / comfort / enjoyment in all my unfiltered niche nonsense, who am I too judge?😅
...But I digress. Tagging these wonderful mutuals💜 : @heavymetalbrat2, @medievalkyrie, @margieargie, @kattheamazingcat & @beecharmer42.
No pressure whatsoever, feel free to skip this one if you aren't in the mood... I'm just genuinely grateful for having such lovely mutuals.🥰💕
I actually love doing these, I just forget to do them, haha! I'm glad I saw it before it got lost in the notifications!
Favorite Color: Light yellow, specifically this hex code: #ffffce (Or yellow in general, I love how happy of a color it is) 💛
Last Song You Listened To: Heartbeat by Carrie Underwood (the yearning is real with this one, also it's one of the few country songs I love very much😅)
Currently Reading: Well, I was reading a history thing for my class not too long ago (kinda interesting), but I've been trying to dig into my psychology books recently, or a fantasy book I haven't picked up yet.
Currently Watching: Kevin Can F**k Himself (it's on Netflix; it's really good so far!) and Poker Face (on Peacock)
Currently Craving: Hugs and Cuddles (also food, maybe chicken? Maybe noodles? Both? I'm not sure, tbh, I'm just hungry 😅)
Coffee or Tea: I like tea, but it has to be cold and flavored with some kind of fruity flavor (peach and raspberry are my favorites!)
✓ Last song I've listened to : Smile Again - Chaoseum
✓ Currently reading: I was reading a book about the Beast of the Gévaudan... AGAIN 💀 was obsessed with it as a kid, and seems my dumb adult brain is starting to get obsessed again 😂
Good thing I have a very bad memory so at least a lot of infos feel like they're totally new things, when I know they're not cuz my dumb child self literally WROTE commentaries about those on the book lmao 💀 (I trigger myself so bad)
✓ Currently Watching: Rewatching Vita Carnis and Ted's Caving Journal 👌
Last Song I Listened To: 'I'm Alive' from the Original Cast Recording of 'Next To Normal'
Currently Reading: Wicked...technically. I read like a quarter of the book in one sitting a few months ago, and then I haven't been able to force myself to start it up again )):
Currently Watching: Sherlock!!! I started the show when I visited my boyfriend, and now me and him watch it on call together<3
Currently Craving: Nothing?? Maybe sherbert?? Sherbert sounds really good now, goddammit
Coffee or Tea: Taste?? I prefer coffee. But I'm trying not to drink caffeine anymore, so I don't drunk either of them. I also don't like tea, except for like Matcha and Chai, because it's more of a latte than a cup of tea.
No pressure tags: @love-bites-and-poetry-burns @philsmeatylegss @alicentsgf @butchersbutch2 @phantom-ghosty @l0ttienatz
Last song I listened to: Midwest Indigo by twenty one pilots
Currently reading: Friends and Foes by Sarah M. Eden (I’ve been really into historical romances recently, this is like the 5th or 6th book by this author that I’ve read this week)
Currently watching: nothing :( none of our streaming services are working so we’ve just been watching dvds
Currently craving: ice creammmmmm
Coffee or tea: coffee! Especially caramel macchiatos, they’re just so yummy
Npt: @ixvessel @theadventuresofcas @thesleepiestpilot @sweetermooon @sweetestofsunflowers @sinking-summer @juniigirl @loulooser @luckypunks72 @necngravestcnes @exactly-myself @helpmebowlofrice @hometwon @pardonmydelays @pantaloonwarrior @paladinstrait @interstellarneighbourhood @raptorredd @ettengiv and anyone else I missed/anyone who wants to!
pixelskylines
germansingergirl
andulkaphoto
amandla
yousharknotpass
vaporwave
tangentwithtanner
