#ch. jason.

[feralmerit]

@kingofdirtandnothing from x

After you’ve been stared down by the Batman because you won’t eat your Wheaties before patrol, there are very few Looks that make him feel shame at this point, but he lets the guy have his moment.

“Huh.” Jason eyeballs him, deliberately tipping his chin down and then up to project it through the mask. He’s mostly trying not to laugh.

“Does that count? ‘Cause I think I did that last time I got laid. Maybe I am special, who’da thunk it.”

He triggers the com in his helmet, “O, I got this, tell everyone to fuck off, yeah? Thanks.”

Barbara hates it when he hangs up on her but Oh Well.

“B doesn’t like metahumans on his turf buddy. He’s not partial to lethal wounds either. Me? I don’t give a shit, I’d love to see you off a scumbag with a spatula spreader. Just... a heads up before the guy gets his Bat Panties all twisted.”

He kicks the ringleader in the side, crouches to pull out his PDA because apparently this drug ring is run by the technologically savvy.

“And ditch the turtleneck you fucking nerd, it’s like watching Ringo fight crime. Get some body armor. And a gas mask-- it’s Gotham, man, did no one brief you on this shit?”

[feralmerit]

@allpurposebogeyman from x

This one, Jason wants to say, any universe, all of them, you idiot.

But he’s silent, throat still raw, attention focused. He wants this answer. Wants to know before something happens and it’s not real again. Before he wakes up alone in the dark, only the barbed wire wound tight around him to know he’s alive.

He doesn’t know what to say to any of it– Rod was dead, certainly, or at least bad off enough this recovery couldn’t have happened.

(don’t lie to yourself, dear boy, he was dead. dead dead dead– and all because he followed you)

Surprise crosses his face, but it’s exhausted relief that cracks the first smile he’s managed since he saw Rod crumple. The little challenge is the first semblance of the familiar Jason’s gotten a taste of and it… it makes it real. He’s out and they’re both alive and Rod’s trying to start a scuffle with him while he’s laid up.

Alfred and Bruce treat him like glass and a live bomb in turns and then there’s– there’s Tim.

(He knows Bruce needed help, had been desperate for help. He knows it’s not meant to hurt like it does. But he looks at Tim and it’s–

he’s not coming, Jason, my boy, see? Bats has a new little bird. No one’s coming, not him, not your dead friend. It’s just you and me-

Tim is a kid and Jason hates him.)

Rod, though. Rod made the Joker a liar and he sure as hell made him dead. Reliable and always willing for a good fight to keep it being too uncomfortable.

He’s my hooligan.

“Hell yeah I wanna make something of it–” and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but Jason’s surging forward to dig his hands into the front of Rod’s shirt, dragging him back with him when his body decides sitting upright isn’t in the cards yet.

He hooks an arm around the back of Rod’s neck, grimacing but determined, stares the other boy down, “I’m gonna keep makin’ somethin’ of it too, and you can just try ‘n stop me.”

[feralmerit]

The outside of the card is a real tasteful affair-- clean black text on cream "Congratulations on your return to the living". The inside is a mess of Red Hood stickers and Rod's looping "thanks for not coming back as a zombie and eating me, boyscout" and glitter. Lots and lots of glitter.

Jason blinks, surprised at the cloud of glitter that comes rushing out of the envelope and all over his front.

He has been, perhaps, too early in deciding notes from Rod are unlikely to be booby-trapped anymore.

Too late to undo it now, he admits defeat and skims front of the card, blinking in surprise. It’s, of course, not the first acknowledgment of the day of his death, but it is the most normal, considering it doesn’t consist of pained grimaces and a refusal to meet his eyes.

(Maybe he doesn’t help, weaponizing his brutal murder as he does, but, damn it, it’s his murder.)

Also, he hadn’t realized there was a section for ‘died and came back’ but he hasn’t looked at hallmark’s cards lately.

Opening it results in more glitter pouring out and, again, he accepts his fate. The stickers are a good choice, the written words are incredibly Rod and for once he’s not laughing sarcastically on his death day.

(Deathiversary? Murderversary? Now he sounds like Rod coming up with an alias.)

Jason shakes as much glitter as he can off the card and off himself (the latter is nearly impossible, damnit Roderick) before he folds it neatly and sticks it in his pocket. His plan to lie low and have a few drinks will just have to wait until he’s chased Sweetheart down and had a few words regarding the glitter coating his outfit. If he’s maybe not as outraged as he should be, that’s his own damn business.

[feralmerit]

@seancejunkie from x

The immediate rejoinder, I was dead in high school rises, then fades away. That sort of aggression works best with the Bats, who flinch and dodge the subject, not strangers unhaunted by crowbars and laughing clowns.

Anyway, he was only dead for half of high school. The dating he didn’t do was his own work.

“Fff. Man, I know what my issues are. I ran around in underwear and pixie boots for years-- you think that’s a normal person thing?” Jason’s fucked up. His not-family is definitely fucked up. That’s old news.

“I’m not saving the world, anyway. I’m just taking out the trash. Call it... aggressive victim’s advocacy.”

And, in a sense, it is. Jason will jump in to save someone, sure, wipes the floor with goons to get to a supervillain, but mostly he deals with what’s left afterwards, the victims the Bats pretend they protect while their attackers make their greasy way back to the street again and again. Jason, though. Jason will drop an abuser off a roof, put a bullet in a rapists head, all those little angry, scared things the victims think of but can’t do. 

He can’t fix anything, but he can take the payment back in blood.

[feralmerit]

@kingofdirtandnothing from x

Jason scowls, suspicious and full of misgivings. He accepts the tea, because Alfred has done right by him and sometimes he can remember that, but he’s away from the touch just as fast as it comes to him.

He can’t trust smooth motions, practiced motions. They’re never honest.

Not that Jason’s got much trust to start with.

“No one offers a hand for free, man. It’s just a distraction for the one behind their back.” He doesn’t add ‘so what the hell do you want?’ just waits, not drinking the tea, not taking without knowing what the cost is.

[feralmerit]

“If you slit my throat tonight, I will have a hard time forgiving you for that.”

buzzfeed unsolved meme / accepting

Jason remembers hearing somewherethat there are laws that excuse a person who kills someone within three secondsof waking up.

It might be a gun-only thing, hedoesn’t remember if stabbing someone counts.

Either way, the knowledge doesn’tmake coming to with his chest heaving, knife jammed up underneath Rod’s chin, anyless awful. Rod cracking a fucking joke about it doesn’t help.

“I told you to keep weapons away from the bed.” Blaming Rod’s easier, theindignant anger feels better than the horror tightening his chest. Jason jerksthe knife away, using the motion to hide the shaking in his hands.

Waking up swinging is one thing— he’s yet to sleep near someone in their life that doesn’t throw a punch or ten when they’re half out of it. Threateninga partner’s life is a different beast entirely, a new sort of sin on his record.There’s a reason he used to kick people out of his bed, but no, Rod always fucking staysand Jason is an idiot because he lethim. A sudden claustrophobia overtakes him, an intense fear of being crushed underthe weight of his own existence.

He shoves at Rod with afrustrated, “Get off,” flinchinghimself away from his companion without any of the grace he usually puts in hismovements. Jason doesn’t want him gone, exactly, just wants his skin to stop crawling,wants to forget he could’ve killed aperson who (stupidly, Jesus Christ, sostupidly) trusted him enough to sleep around him.

He’s got a perfectlyserviceable couch in the other room. He’s not going to go back to sleep, not now, but hecan at least let Rod have some space away from the crazy undead guy.

[feralmerit]

‘i’ve returned, motherfucker.’

partner memes | accepting, send fifty

Jason’s tired, concussed, and in a terrible mood.

Arkham breakouts always do this to him, he always gets hit hardest, keeps himself the most busy, flinging himself into every fight the other Bats get into and leaping headlong into the next one. The others worry, but Bruce never stops him. It’s the one thing they both agree on-- they won’t lose another Robin, another family member.

In any case that’s why he’s laying flat on his back in an alleyway, helmet off, gun in hand. Alert, but unwilling to get up now that Arkham’s secure again.

(Until the next breakout. Jesus Christ he should just blow up the place.)

He’s on his feet before he recognizes the voice and nausea rushes to greet him even as he registers the wacky, lilting tone that Rod puts on when he’s going to “kill the Red Hood” his “nemesis”.

Usually he looks forward to this, their bizarre ritual. It hurts, pretty often-- he’s not sure if Rod knows him too well and his overly elaborate plans use it or if he’s just never on top of his game.

It’s hard to feel the weight of seriousness with the memory of Rod bleeding politely in his kitchen because going through his cabinets was intrusive.

(“Anything without a lock on it is fair game,” Jason tried once, and stopped locking his bedroom.

He’d had to put the stupid med kit on the counter anyway.)

Today, though.... Today, Rod’s neon hurts his eyes and he wobbles dangerously, scowling at him. He is just not doing this.

Decided, he lays back down and puts his arm over his face, damsel style.

“Do what ya want, man, ‘m ready to die again--- end my suffering, oh happy dagger.”