The Bed's Been Made
Summary: When someone tries breaking into your apartment in the middle of the night, you call your brother to send one of his friends for help. What you don’t expect is to slowly fall for the vigilante who came to your aid.
Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem(West)!Reader
Word Count: 9.7k
Content Warning: Insomniac reader, Reader is Wally West’s sister (not a speedster), mutual pining, Reader gets robbed, tension, angst with happy ending?, talks about Frankenstein, typical gothatm violence, maybe ooc, second person, no use of y/n
A/N: This is for this Request by @jlfswallflower i'm so so so sorry it took me so long to get to. thank you for letting me make some changes last minute as well, you are such a sweetheart!!! Fun fact this is my longest Jason fic yet i hope you enjoy my lovelies
•───────•°•𓄧•°•───────•
“It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my to-”
The shake of your doorknob sobers you completely. No longer immersed in the book, but staring doom in the face. You weren’t expecting anyone. No one was supposed to be here, not at this time anyway. It was a little after one in the morning, which only meant one thing in Gotham.
Trouble.
The handle on your front door kept jangling, and you could hear the lot of them outside messing with the lock. Practically shooting off the sage couch, you dart toward your bedroom. The door shuts behind you as quickly and quietly as possible. Flipping the silver notch to lock you inside, adrenaline starts pumping through your veins. Your eyes are frantically examining all your furniture to fins the most feasible piece to block the door. In a desperate attempt at survival, you muster all the strength you can manage at 1 a.m. to push your dresser.
The dresser was ancient and colored with a faded spruce stain. Your brother had gifted it to you as one of his legendary Facebook marketplace finds.
He loved to play this game to see how much he could lowball the sellers and get away with it. After each buy, he would call you to tell you how much he managed to get discounted off. You could always hear the smirk in his voice, proud of himself and his bargaining skills. As you reminisce on the memory while pathetically shoving the dresser, you think of him.
This is exactly why he didn’t want you to get your masters at GothamU.
There was a whispering voice in your head that wanted to put off telling him about this as long as you could. You knew exactly what the phone call would sound like. The first thing he would do would be to tell you “I told you so” and the next would be him packing your bags to move you back to Central City.
The ricochet of your front door off the wall halts you in your tracks. The vibrations of the insane force are felt through the foundations of your shitty apartment. You say a silent prayer to any deity listening when you finally manage to get your dresser to block some of the door. Your lamp next to the couch was still on and you hope their stupid enough to think that you didn’t really acre about your electric bill.
It’s only a matter of time until they realize that someone was in fact home.
Your phone lights up from your nightstand with a notification from your brother highlighting the lockscreen. That development springs you into action, finally making an attempt to ask for help. From what you could hear, there were about three of them out there. The drawers in your kitchen were being pulled off the rails, cabinets were being thrown open, books were being fanned out for extra cash.
It was a lost cause really, you were a broke master’s student who worked at the campus bookstore. They weren’t going to find much except frozen meals and too many annotations in between pages.
Tip-toeing to your phone, you hear them outside talking to themselves. What saves you is that you have a million little containers and trinkets that they’ll busy themselves with. It’ll take them at least ten minutes to rifle through and guess how valuable each of them are.
“Of course” you can’t help but mumble with shaking hands when you see the notification from him. Only Wally West would be up at 12:14 a.m. (Central City time) sending you an Instagram reel of Zuko in the leaked Avatar movie with a message that says “I can take him.”
I’ll take him in between the legs, you think to yourself as the edit plays.
Your guardian angel must have been tired of working overtime because something shatters in your kitchen, which catalyzes your self-preservation to kick in again. In spite of the fact you’re about to drop the phone with how much you’re shaking, your fingers manage to type out a message.
As much as I’d love to discuss how you cannot in fact “take him” I need your help
I totally can thank you very much But what’s up?
Someone broke into my apartment and I’m hiding out in my room
WHAT!?!?!?!
He instantly starts calling you. In any other circumstance an Instagram call would make you laugh, but right now you hit the decline button as fast as you can. The second it ends, another call comes through and you decline that one too.
Pick up the phone right now.
I can’t They’ll hear me talking Can you call 911 for me?
I mean I would love too but they’re not going to do anything You’re in GOTHAM. They’re probably dealing with a psychotic lion or something.
Your head falls back after reading the text. He’s not exactly wrong, but a very small part of you is trying to overpower the stressed one and stay calm. Tears are threatening your water line from terror, you’re positive that your heart is about to beat out of your chest. One of them keeps walking past the door as they tear apart your bookshelf and entertainment center, each footstep feels like a countdown.
You stare at your door with your heart in your throat when another text form Wally comes through.
I just texted Dick, someone’s going to be there soon For now go to your bathroom and barricade yourself inside This time when I call, you ARE going to PICK UP and sit with me in silence until someone gets there okay?
You barely finish reading the text when the green and red buttons appear on the screen again.
Instantly, your fingers go to the side of the phone to lower the volume. The only sound coming from either of you are heavy anxious breaths.
If it wasn’t for the no meta rule, you know he would already be halfway here. He’d threatened to break it multiple times on the grounds of you just having a bad day. You knew him not being here right now with this absolute disaster happening was killing him.
The quiet padding of your feet on the way to your bathroom sounded like bombs dropping to your ears.
Realistically, you knew they couldn’t hear it, but all your senses were at 110%. Every noise that came from outside of your bedroom felt like a crescendo to the climax of your worst nightmare. In a really strange and fucked up way, you were lucky. You’d been living in Gotham for a year and a half without having any real problems. It was about time to pay the piper.
Entering the bathroom, you delicately place your phone on the counter and shut the door behind you. The lights remain off while you slide down the wall. The timer of your call with Wally was the only source of light in the claustrophobic wash room. When it hits 2:07, they start trying your bedroom door. Wally hears it, the hitch in his breath obvious even on the lowest volume setting.
It’s going to be okay, I promise. They’ll be there soon.
His text only causes the tears to fall faster on your face. You just wanted tonight to be over.
Then you hear it.
The shatter of your living room window. It’s followed by a heavy set of footsteps that land on the floor. A few punches are thrown, some gunshots, and then you count three bodies falling to the floor.
The ringing in your ear is louder than you’re comfortable with and Wally speaks for the first time.
“Are you okay?”
It’s a miracle that you heard or even understood him. The broken speaker of your phone paired with his small whisper was almost impossible to make out.
“I think.” Is all you can say back.
Then there are three knock on your bedroom door that sends you flying to your feet. Phone in one hand and white-knuckling the counter with the other, every limb is shaking and your breathing hadn’t been coming out evenly for minutes. The room is spinning, and the aftershock is starting to sink in.
“Hey it’s me,” the voice comes out slightly awkward and you freeze. Recognition travels with a chill down your spine. “I took care of the them, you uh- you can come out now.”
There was like a million of the bats and bat-adjacent vigilantes in Gotham, and they sent him. Deep down when you heard the gunshots, you knew who it was. There was only one vigilante in that family that dared to go against the Batman’s gun ban. You were hoping that fate was going to give you a break, but that didn’t seem like it was in the cards tonight.
Once upon a time, this would’ve had relief washing over your body.
Wally used to bring you to some of the get togethers that the Titans held when you were younger. Then, thinking like a true older brother, Dick used to drag Jason along with him.
Safe to say, you both became fast friends.
You would talk about everything that came to your mind. Books, games, shoes, stuff going on in your lives, anything you could think of. Sometimes when you both got bored, you would sneak away to play video games in Wally’s room at the tower. Jason would always help you beat the levels you were stuck on in your latest save.
But, nothing perfect lasts forever.
Everything dampened when he died. It was awful to put it plainly. When he came back, it was almost worse. He changed so drastically, you almost didn’t believe that this was the same boy who gave you a forty five minute rant on why Jo was never meant for Laurie.
You couldn’t blame him for what he became, the experience was horrifyingly unique. Yet, you don’t think you’ll ever forget the last time you spoke.
It was a stupid argument in hindsight.
Dick had come to you one night, begging for you to try to get through to him. Apparently they all had given their best efforts into attempting to talk to him, and you were the last line of offense.
That was a year and a half ago.
A hesitant call of your name through the door takes you out of the memory flashing behind your eyes.
“Yeah,” your voice squeaks out with a cringe following. You didn’t realize how small it was going to sound. “I-I’ll be out, just give me a sec.”
Turning back to your phone, your throat bobs with a heavy swallow. “I’m all good Wall,” there’s a sound of relief coming through the speakers. It was almost as if he had been holding his breath for the entire three minutes of the phone call.
“Who’s with you?” The question was immediate. He heard the gunshots, he knew as well as you did who was here.
“Um,” your eyes dart up from his horrific contact photo to the door and then back down to the picture again, “Jason’s here.”
The silence from the other end of the phone was palpable. Wally knew how bad the last argument you and Jason had stung. He was the one who sat on the phone with you after. Blinking back the emotions, you steel yourself for what’s awaiting in your apartment.
You’re a big girl, you can handle this. You’ve handled worse than a shitty ex-best friend.
“I’m going to hang up now, okay?” Your hands are starting to shake again. “I gotta figure out how bad the damage is, I’ll text you with the updates.”
He could hear the words rushing to leave your mouth, a pathetic attempt at convincing yourself this was fine.
“Do you want me to come? I will, give me like ten minutes- fifteen tops, and I’ll be there. All you have to do is ask.”
You knew he would do it too, the reassurance was unnecessary. The gravity in his tone almost made you fall into the temptation. There was nothing you wanted more right now than for your brother to be here. He would know how to handle this. He would know how to wrangle Gotham vigilante’s and tell them to go to Hell.
Your strive for independence was going to be the death of you one day.
“I think I’m okay for now, but I’ll call if I need backup.”
“Okay,” a hint of defeat is mixed in with the sigh. “Well I doubt I’ll be sleeping much after this, so please just text me with what ends up happening.”
“I promise,” and because you know he’ll lose his mind all night you ask him for a different type of help. “If you want to make yourself useful, go back to scrolling on reels and send me some that I can watch later.”
“Aye Aye boss,” You can almost hear his smug grin when he gets a snort out of you. “I love you, I’ll talk to you later.”
“I love you too Wally.” When the line goes dead you hold the phone to your chest for a moment. Even with the levels of annoying you’re sure only Wally could reach, you truly could not have asked for a better brother. He always dropped whatever he was doing if you needed him.
Savoring the last moment of peace you had from the rest of the world, you lean against the counter and try to catch your breath. You were going to have to confront the disaster that was your apartment. The devil on your shoulder was contemplating to just leave it for tomorrow, but the angel reminded you that your book was out there.
Mustering up the final ounces of courage left in your stomach, you unlock the door to the bathroom. Thankfully the sanctuary that was your bedroom remained untouched, except for the dresser propped against your door.
The dresser was heavier than you remember it being a few minutes ago. Adrenaline strength truly unlocks a version of potential you didn’t know you had. The effort it takes to give you a clearing, leaves red imprints of the design on your palms. Your hand hovers over the doorknob, hesitation plain on your fingers. You were going to have to see him, you were going to have to confront him after seventeen months of no contact.
Left hand at your side, you crack each knuckle with your thumb before opening the door. Not letting yourself think too hard, it swings wide open. And there he is.
He was on one knee flipping the coffee table back over. His hands were filled with a bunch of the trinkets that made their home on it. When he hears the door open, his head whips in your direction. The air in the room depletes when the white slits of the mask meet your eyes. Both of you frozen, staring at each other with a decade of history lingering in a glance.
Uncomfortable with the silence, you start cracking the knuckles of your right hand.
You might as well have activated a sleeper agent with the movement. He suddenly remembers where he is, and shoots to his feet. Carefully cupping his hands, he moves to drop your belongings back on the table.
Peeling your eyes off his devastatingly gorgeous frame, you find the three robbers tied together hanging off your fire escape.
“I’m waiting on Dick.” His voice is gravelly and a bit panicked. In the back of your mind, you note that he turned off the modulator. “He’s on his way to pick them up and take them to the station.”
You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you hum in reply.
Examining your apartment, it wasn’t as bad as you expected. Despite the few broken pieces of decor, the glass littered all over your living room from where Jason made his dramatically grand entrance, and your stuff being thrown everywhere, you were pretty lucky.
Noticing the way your eyes caught on the glimmering pieces of glass off the floor, he starts anxiously adjusting the cuffs of his jacket.
“I’m sorry about the window.” He’s rolled and unrolled the cuff of his left sleeve three times by the time he manages to speal. “I was in a rush and it seemed the fastest way in, I’ll pay for someone to fix it tomorrow.”
“I would hope so.” The answer came out like a reflex. You bite back the grimace fighting your features. You hadn’t even thanked him for the help before pouring gasoline on the fire.
He doesn’t say anything, yet his shoulders tense. Somewhere deep in places his pride won’t let him admit, he knew he deserved it, and that was enough of a punishment for you. He had to live with himself at the end of the day, what more could you ask for?
A clang on your fire escape steals your attention. Next thing you know, you’re being tackled in a bone crushing hug. If the blur of blue and black spandex didn’t’ give it away, the hints of Tom Ford cologne certainly did.
The hug is merely a second long before he pulls back and holds you at your shoulders.
“Good to see that you’re doing alright kid.” A grin is pulling at his face, but you can see the tension in his build. Wally had trusted Dick with this- with his family. That wasn’t an easy thing for anyone to do. He wouldn’t have forgiven himself if something happened.
“Yeah I’m fine,” You try to laugh but it comes out weak. “I was overdue on my Gotham initiation anyway.”
The dominos mask hides it, but by the subtle shake of his head you can tell there was an eyeroll that went along with it.
He lets go of your shoulders and you look back at the dump that was now your apartment. Jason and Dick hold each other’s gazes silently. They were speaking in the silence with movements you pretended to ignore.
You’re scratching your eyebrow when Dick starts, “Hey um, where are you staying tonight?”
Hand falling from your face, you turn to him. “What do you mean?”
Confused, he looks from you to Jason, then back to you.
“You know you can’t stay here for a few days right?” His head cocks to the side. “The cops have to come, investigate, tape it off, and we need to get someone to fix your window.”
Your eyelids blink slowly. You weren’t tired by any means, but tonight just got a hell of a lot longer. None of your friends were going to be awake and you would rather sleep under the bridge than try a hotel in Gotham you could afford.
“Fuck.” The curse barely audible when it leaves falls off your tongue.
“I mean,” Dick starts with a shrug of the shoulders. “You’re more than welcome to stay at the manor. Bruce won’t mind”
Jason’s neck snaps to Dick, the white slits of the hood widen a bit before narrowing again.
“I mean this with the upmost respect.” Your hand lays flat against your heart. “I would rather chew rocks.”
You weren’t sure how long you would need to try and find somewhere to stay, but you wanted to avoid the manor at all costs. You’d had the luxury of visiting a few times, but it always felt awkward. It was too big for you, and you really didn’t want to feel like an imposition.
Dick and Jason both snort at your reply. Both of them knew how you felt about the manor. It was breath taking, but it wasn’t somewhere you wanted to sleep in, especially for multiple nights.
“I’ll figure something out,” you sound unsure even to yourself. “I’ll just find some couches to surf for a while.”
“Yeah no, try again West.” Jason finally decides to speak for the first time since his brother’s arrival.
Your neck snaps in his direction and a fire lights behind your eyes, daring him to repeat himself. He had no right to tell you what you could, and couldn’t do. His opinions meant jack shit to you.
“Sorry kiddo,” Dick’s domino mask expands a miniscule amount, but still enough to notice. He looks like he’s been tasked to negotiate the terms of a peace treaty before World War 3 breaks out. “Wally entrusted us with your safety, which means we have to know that where you’re staying is at least somewhat protected.”
Understanding dawns on you in a cruel shiver up your spine. The second option about to be presented to you was dangling like a rotten carrot on a stick.
“It’s the manor or Jason’s place.”
Your jaw drops and you meet the latter’s gaze. The damn mask betraying no emotion, you however, don’t miss the little fidget of his foot. Your eyes narrow in between the boys.
“So what? My choices are the fourth or fifth circle of Hell?”
“C’mon the manor’s not that bad.” Dick tries to reason with you.
“Jason’s place is.”
He doesn’t deny it. No one does.
You should’ve chosen the manor, every nerve in your body was telling you that was the reasonable choice. Dick would be there for a few days, there was other life there. Yet, It was just too much and it was too far. Your commute to class would double and you liked your alone time too much to give it up.
Swallowing your pride, you turn to the boy you longer knew with a deadpan. “When do we leave?”
•───────•°•𓄧•°•───────•
Jason’s apartment was surprisingly clean.
His apartment was embracing the minimalist aesthetic. He had never been one for many material goods because of how he was raised. That never changed, even after all the years he lived with Bruce.
The living room, where you were currently sitting, had barely anything inhabiting the space. The couch was dark and worn with some cracks in the leather, the entertainment center was a simple stand made of oak with a glass cabinet on the bottom, the TV was rested on top of it, a floor lamp next to the couch, and the last piece was by far the liveliest- his bookshelf.
It took up about half the wall. Every shelf littered with different genres. It was almost too personal to examine. Some books you recognized and some you didn’t. An odd wave of sadness washes over you when you see some books you’d never heard him talk about. It was still strange to you on some days that you were no longer in each other’s lives.
You knew he was out and about in Gotham, but your paths never crossed. Whether that was by design or some level of mercy, you never knew.
He was on the news at least once a week. It felt like cheating no contact, but you couldn’t help yourself. It was the one indulgence you allowed yourself, to know that he was still alive and working with the bats. This way you didn’t feel guilty about holding the grudge for as long as you did.
You’d been staring at the same page for fifteen minutes. The first line of the chapter was permanently engraved in your mind because of how many times you’d read it.
“Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant did I not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed?”
For your Women in Literature class, you chose Frankenstein as the novel you were going to be analyzing in your paper. The assignment was to find a topic from a book and write fifteen pages about it in MLA format. It was an interesting class, but fifteen pages felt like overkill, it was double-spaced at the very least.
This was your third reread of the book this semester.
The first read was to familiarize yourself with the novel, the second was to piece together the paper, and this one was to find the evidence after you’d started the rough draft. It felt fitting that you were using a green highlighter for the evidence.
Sleep never came easy to you, and you had tried essentially everything. All the medicines, the teas, a warm glass of milk, counting sheep, all of it. At one point your doctors and family members suggested reading, which was probably the worst thing they could’ve said.
The last suggestion ended up with you staying awake all night with a book in hand.
Which is exactly what you were doing now. It was around four in the morning, Jason had brought you back to his apartment and then went back on patrol. He still hadn’t returned, but you weren’t complaining.
The less you had to interact with him the better.
In a pathetic attempt to finally turn the page, you start to read again. Making it to the third sentence on the page, you start to finally get immersed in the story again when-
The window slides open.
Your hands drop the book in shock and it clatters on the floor. Alarmed, Jason turns to you already prepared for a fight, forgetting that you were staying with him.
“What’re you doing awake?” He sounds truly baffled that you hadn’t managed to fall asleep. His hands move to the back of his mask and there’s a quiet hissing sound before it unlatches. He examines it for a second, checking for damage. Then his fingers slowly uncurl from the edge and it falls to the floor.
“I couldn’t sleep.” You answer with a bite that didn’t fit your current state. You had stolen one of his mugs and warmed up some milk, bundled in a blanket on the couch, and had been reading under the lamp. “What the hell is it with you and the damn window?”
“It’s my place, I can use whatever entrance I want.” He turns to you with an annoyed look now. Your attitude seemed to finally start pricking at him. “I also didn’t think you’d be waiting up on me.”
“I wasn’t waiting up on you.” The answer comes out way too defensive for your liking.
“Whatever you wanna tell yourself sweetheart,” he mumbles and you scoff at him. You were starting to miss the quiet Jason that found you in your apartment.
He bends down to pick up your copy of Frankenstein and flips it around in his hands a few times. Looking back up at you, he raises a brow and you cross your arms.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs and tosses the book back in your lap.
“You obviously got something you wanna say Todd.” Rolling your eyes, you flick your left hand at him. “Go on, spit it out.”
It’s his turn to roll his eyes at you and you want to pluck them out of their eye sockets. “It’s nothing, I’m just surprised you’re reading Frankenstein.”
“Why? Because I’m ordinary, because I’m not one of you?”
The words land right where you wanted them too, right in the center of his chest. His lips thin and you can see the flex of his jaw as it tightens. It was a terrible echo of the fight you’d had all those months ago. It was petty, but you’d been waiting to throw it back in his face one day.
“No,” his voice comes out softer than you were expecting, and his throat bobs while he tries to swallow his guilt. “I was just surprised because you didn’t read classics before. You used to ask me about them because you didn’t like the writing style.”
“Yeah, well things change Jason.” Your gaze doesn’t waver from his, even when he momentarily breaks away to look at his boots in shame. “People change.”
He knew that better than anyone.
With that, he glances back up to you. All the tension, all the anger, it was bleeding into the few feet between you.
“I’m going to go shower.” The sentence sounds distant from his body, as if he was just speaking into a void instead of ending the conversation.
You nod and purse your lips before picking up your phone. He stays there for a moment watching you as you attempt to look busy with swiping through the weather and notes app.
When he finally steps away into his room to head to the bathroom, you throw your head back on the armrest of the couch.
This was going to be a long week.
Dread takes over you, when the shower shuts off. You’d been trying to watch the five million Instagram reels that Wally sent you, but there was no hope in being able to focus enough to really watch them. Your brain was hyper focused on where Jason was in the apartment. He left the door to his bedroom open, so you see him pass from the bathroom to his dresser in nothing but a towel.
Your eyes may have been on your phone, but your concentration was on him.
There’s some shuffling in his room, movement of blankets you think, before he appears in the doorframe. You refused to look up until he cleared his throat awkwardly.
By some miracle you were able to hide the way your breath caught in your throat. It was unfair how he could be such an asshole and still look like that. His hair was damp, curling at the ends in a beautiful frame of his face. He had thin rimmed glasses that hung on the bridge of his nose, highlighting the piercing green of his eyes. He was in plaid pajama pants that were a smidge too tight around his thighs and ass. There was a cotton white t-shirt on that left little room for imagination as it clung to his arms and torso from where he hadn’t dried himself off completely.
The crush you had on him at fourteen was slowly becoming more valid in this light, but you would rather die than admit that out loud.
The most damning part about the whole scene was what he was holding. Tucked under his left arm was a pillow and a blanket under the right one.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other before finally admitting. “The bed’s been made.”
Your eyebrows furrow together. What the hell was he on about? Did he think you were going to sleep in the bed with him.
“Um- okay? Do you want me to congratulate you for making your bed at the ripe age of- what 22? 23?” Your phone drops face down onto the blanket you were covering yourself with. “I mean I know Alfred used to make it for you. I’m not sure how big of a feat this is.”
“I’m 23.” His expression falls to an unimpressed expression. He licks his lips slowly for a moment as if he’s using it to ground himself, and you hate that you catch it. You were learning things you didn’t want to know about yourself tonight. When his eyes shut in that annoyed manner and his tongue swept across his lower lip, the way your stomach coiled terrified you.
“I’ve made my bed before West,” The heat in your stomach only intensified at him calling you by your last name, leading your heart to sink a second later. “I was telling you, so you could get in it.”
“And why would I do that?”
His eyebrow is mirroring yours now, raised with confusion at a lack of communication. “Because I’m sleeping on the couch.”
“Why are you sleeping on the couch?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
You blink once, twice, then, “this is your place, you remember that right?”
Frustrated with the fact you would do anything just to fight him, he tosses the blanket and pillow to the unoccupied side of the couch.
“Oh my god-” He runs a hand through his hair and your eyes linger on every line of every muscle in his bicep. Thankfully, you manage to break away from the distraction before he realizes. “I’m trying to be nice and give you the bed. Did you think I was going to offer you a place to stay and make you sleep on this shitty couch?”
“The couch isn’t shitty.”
His hand drops from his hair, and while he doesn’t say it, you can hear the deadpanned “really?” that he was defiantly thinking.
The couch was old and thoroughly used. You could feel every spring in it on the bone of your ass, the cushion was flat, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the type of sofa that would be at your grandparent house because they refused to throw it out. You’d been subjected to worse sleeping arrangements than Jason’s thrift find.
“It’s not that bad Jason.”
“I wouldn’t even subject Tim to sleeping on this couch.”
That earns him a snort. He seems to celebrate the small win as something like a bridge between you two. Noticing the crease disappearing in his eyebrows and his shoulder relaxing, you catch yourself. It was always too easy for Jason to undo you, he knew the exact weak points to hit in order to break down your walls.
It flipped a switch in you, immediately tensing up again, and he noticed. He always did. He gives up trying to fight you on getting to the bed and takes his place on the other end of the couch.
“What’re you doing…?” The sentence is dragged out of you, exhaustion from the day slowly overtaking the anxiety that was keeping you up.
“Putting on the TV.” He said it so simply while picking up the remote from the coffee table, it was as if this was normal for the both of you.
“Why?” The question escapes you before you can swallow it. A flush creeps over your face, suddenly self-aware of all the questions you’d been asking.
He doesn’t seem to notice the pink now dusting the tips of your ears- well, if he does he doesn’t comment on it. He only shrugs and logs into Dick’s streaming services that he has a profile on. “It helps me unwind after the night. Having something on in the background distracts me enough that it makes it easier to fall asleep.”
He starts scrolling through his account while you nod at his response.
“Jason?”
“Mhm.”
“Why is Sex and the City in your recently watched?”
His cheeks deepen to a color dangerously similar to the hood he dons every night, his freckles disappearing under the blush. He coughs to hide the fluster and pushes his glasses back up his nose.
“It was part of a deal I made with Steph,” he mumbles, skipping right over it. “When I started talking to them all again, she made me start watching it with her. Every Friday night I would come over after patrol and watch two episodes together. It was nicknamed as my “anger management” work for me to try and survive two episodes without getting frustrated with one of them.”
“Uh huh,” every thing you learned about his new life was more shocking than the last. “And how’d that go?”
“About as well as you’d expect.”
Who was this and what did they do with Jason Todd.
“That doesn’t explain why it’s still in your recently watched, though. You said you watched this with Steph, why are you on season three on your profile?”
He grumbles something unintelligible while looking through the other show options he has.
“Objectively… it’s an okay show.”
It takes all your strength not to break out in a laugh. “Just okay?”
He hears you smothering the giggle and meets your gaze. Despite his face drowning in pink, he still puts on a brave face. “I put it on after patrol sometimes. Is that what you wanted to hear? It doesn’t matter what fucked shit is happening to me, Carrie somehow always manages to take the cake in the shit show competition.”
“Well then, don’t let me stop you from your routine.”
His lips press together when the words leave your mouth. “I’ll pass thanks.”
“Why?” Your response came out more lighthearted than you’d planned on. This situation felt like an old normal you were no longer familiar with.
“You’re laughing at me that’s why.”
“I’m going to laugh either way.” You tease. “Might as well commit to the bit now.”
He stares at you for a few seconds. You don’t think anything of it, but he’s drinking in this version of you. A version that he thought no longer existed anymore. The version of you that trusted him.
He knows it’s not completely there, but this brought him hope. He didn’t think you were going to be doing much speaking through the week. Just this interaction was more than he could’ve dreamed for. He knew now that there was something he could work toward, that maybe there could be a light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe the sun would shine on you both again.
So, not taking advantage of the smile pulling at your lips, he turns on the show. He’d turn himself into the biggest idiot if it meant you would look at him like that again. He would embarrass himself in every lifetime, every universe, every dimension if it meant he got to witness your smile one more time.
And with Carrie talking about how Big is leaving his wife, your eye lids begin to flutter. Jason, acting as a protective presence opposite of you, allows you the comfort you’d been looking for. Finally, you’re able to drift into a world that wasn’t so haunted.
Once your breathing evened out, Jason acted quickly. He picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bed you seemed determined to not sleep in. He tucks you in with the blankets cascading around you. Standing up to his full height, he takes one last look at you and makes a promise.
A promise that he’ll work every day to become someone worth trusting again.
•───────•°•𓄧•°•───────•
Most nights were like the first one.
You would come home from class or work and then make a home on the squeaky couch. Jason would be out and about running on errands or at the auto shop he picked shifts up at. Neither of you spoke much through the day, he left you to have your much needed alone time.
Then at night, after patrol he’d crawl in through the window and you would sit on the couch together. Some nights it was awkward with not much talking, other nights it was a weird in-between of what normal used to mean for you two.
You hadn’t forgotten the fight, it still stung most days.
You knew it wasn’t easy for him to come back. You weren’t so naïve. He had crawled out of his grave, was dunked in the Lazarus pit, fought in the league of assassins, and was still trying to find a place in the world.
It didn’t erase all the hurt however.
On the fourth night he looked at you over the rim of his glasses.
“How’d you like it?”
Glancing up from your laptop, your eyebrows threaded together.
“How’d I like what?”
“Frankenstein,” he closes the book he was reading, Six of Crows- a recommendation from you. “You finished it the other day right?”
“Oh,” It sounded dumb but you hadn’t realized he was paying that much attention. “Yeah, I did. That’s not the first time I’ve read it though.”
“Oh,” he repeats. The vowel comes out in a breath from his mouth. “What’d ya think of it?”
“I liked it, I always liked the story. I’m reading it for a paper I’m writing for my Women in Literature class.”
He nods, accepting the answer. Still wanting specifics on your opinion, he continues to press. “What’s the paper on?”
“Basically,” you start out ready to summarize the topic in the same way you did for everyone. “It’s about how Frankenstein can be interpreted as autobiographical for Mary Shelley, and an expression of her experience as a child bleeding into the challenges she faced with motherhood.”
Your voice was robotic as you explained it to him. Countless of your classmates had asked you about your paper trying to get an idea for their own, and they all dismissed it. Despite it being a Women in Literature’s class it was a required elective, and unfortunately, you got stuck with one too many men who pitied the unreliable narrator.
Jason, however, surprised you.
He cocked his head to the side, barely shifting it to a thirty degree angle. “I… I hadn’t thought about it that way.” His face contorted together, the small dimple on his chin making an appearance as he actually thought about your analysis. “I’ll admit I don’t know much about Mary Shelley, despite that her husband seemed to be somewhat decent since he let her publish the novel, which is more than you can say for most men those days.”
“Somewhat decent is pushing it,” your tone was laced with disgust. “He was a cheater. He cheated on his first wife with Mary, and then cheated on her with her cousin.”
Jason’s eyes were wide and he shut his mouth as fast as he could. Biting his cheeks, he’s making his best effort to avoid saying something that would inadvertently piss you off. he had just managed to get civil with you and he didn’t want to waste it.
“What parts of the book are you using for the paper?” He was giving it his best effort to redirect the conversation so you would be in a good mood again.
“It’s a lot of the inner monologue for both the Creature and Victor.” You shrugged, going back to typing the outline. “In spite of there not being a lot of notable female characters, with the exception of Elizabeth, it had a lot of underlying feminine issues. Victor essentially goes through postpartum depression and rejects the creature. A lot of people also believe that the Creature remains nameless because she had a miscarriage at the time and didn’t name the baby. So the creature can be seen kind of like the child she lost, but also as herself. Since Victor went through life with a rejected creator, essentially on his own, it can be loosely interpreted as a mirror of her childhood. Her mother died when she was young and she was generally depressed like the Creature.”
You hadn’t realized how long you had been rambling for until you finished. Your lips pressed together, almost biting them in the wake of your words running from you. Jason’s face remained a carefully crafted neutral expression, but he wasn’t as successful as he wanted to be. You didn’t miss the subtle twitches in his jaw, the way the last part cut deeper into him than anyone you knew.
Jason Todd who had an addict as a mother.
Jason Todd who gave his everything into being Robin.
Jason Todd who was failed by the world.
And in spite of it all, came back.
He could relate to this monster of a being more than anyone knew. So, when he listens to you talk about it as an innocent thing, as something who was a victim of the world that created him, something broke in him. Because now, there was hope you would look past all his wrongs, to see him as a man trying his best, instead of the monster fate was determined to make him to be.
He nods and by some miracle, makes more conversation with you about the paper and then you shift into a comfortable silence. A couple hours later when he’s transitioning to the nighttime routine, he takes you in.
He knew the week would be over soon. You would go back to your apartment and probably never look in his direction again. He wouldn’t take advantage of this- of you looking at him like the past few years hadn’t happened. That he hadn’t destroyed the only good thing in his life.
Eventually, Sex and the City comes on. It’s as if the universe finally took pity on him and gave him another miracle, letting you got comfortable in his presence. You started talking through the show, shitting on something- he wasn’t sure what.
His heart stopped when he heard the same scoff you used to do when you both watched Mission Impossible. He could practically hear the mumble, ingrained in his memory.
“There’s no way they would get away with this in real life.”
He didn’t move a muscle as you spoke, save for the few encouraging grunts or hums of agreement.
Jason Todd hated when people spoke through movies. He liked to sit, digest it, then talk about after, but he never minded it when it was you.
That’s actually how Dick discovered his crush on you when you were teenagers. He walked by his room and peaked in through the door frame. You were watching some romcom and you had spoken more dialogue through the scene then the film had in general. He was expecting Jason to blow a fuse, but it never came.
Dick teased him relentlessly for days.
He couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed, or care though. He would listen to you talk about anything and everything. Jason Todd would spend every night bleeding dry on the Gotham streets if it meant he got to come home and listen to the harmony of your voice. In those dying seconds he had left in that warehouse, his last thought was of every voicemail he’d never receive.
So now, here on this couch, he absorbs every word, carving it into stone. Every syllable from your mouth was like a recitation of the Bible to him, you were holy.
He didn’t think he’d ever be granted this luxury again. For now, he’ll take what he can get and maybe one day this could be his normal again.
•───────•°•𓄧•°•───────•
As if the past three nights were on replay, you fell asleep before him. He sighs in relief when he notices your eyes close and breath even out. Like every other night, he takes you back to the bed even if you’re determined to take the couch.
The next few nights are also the same. Small domestic moments highlighted by his flickering light bulb and uncharacteristic pleasure of 90s chick flicks.
It had become habit to wait for him to come through the window. You usually were up until this time anyway. Whether it was nightmares, small anxieties that kept you up, or just your general inability to fall asleep, you were up at all hours of the night.
It was weird. You weren’t expecting to feel any comfort in this apartment, you were prepared for the exact opposite actually. Yet, in his stupidly charming Jason way, he managed to make you smile. He got you to laugh. He cooked enough for two even when you said you weren’t hungry.
It was surprisingly peaceful.
Until the last night.
All the butterflies dropped to the pit of your stomach in seconds when he barreled in through the window.
Covered in blood.
His breath was coming out heavy and jagged. He was flat on his ass, arms and legs spread out as if he was cosplaying a starfish who had just gone to war.
“Jason-”
You’re not exactly sure how the words leave your mouth. Laptop forgotten, shoved off your lap onto the couch. Your legs carry you just far enough until you can drop to your knees next to him.
“I-” he coughs. “I’m alright.” His arm wraps around his midsection trying to press on the giant wound that went straight down from his left pectoral to waistline.
“Alright?” He winces at your incredulous tone. “Jason please, you can barely hold your head up.”
The clock had barely struck two, which was never a good sign. If he ever came home early, it was due to some catastrophic injury.
“You shouldn’t be up at this time anyway.” He somehow manages to get out in one breath, wincing again when his hand presses on his torso.
Pointedly ignoring the comment, you help him to his feet. Silence overtakes you two when you help him to the bathroom. He sits on the lid of the toilet. His head leaning against the wall behind it.
Deep, slow breaths are coming from his nose and mouth. A part of you hopes that it’s to calm himself and that he’s not fighting for his consciousness.
That is not a phone call you want to be making tonight.
He sheds the jacket, then the shirt. You’re left with a bloody bruised Jason whose red in the face. He’s staring at you with no hope, ready for you to walk away, to decide that it’s too much.
It’s quiet when you step out the bathroom to the little half closet. It’s quiet when you grab a hand towel and walk back in. The only sound now echoing through the apartment being the water pouring from the faucet onto the grey towel when you wet it.
You finally break the silence, when you sit on the edge of the bathtub. The wound getting uglier by the second, your hand hovers it, right before contact.
“This is going to hurt.” It’s barely a whisper, yet in this room, it could’ve been a scream.
He chuckles and it’s half concerning, half reassuring. “Do your worst darlin’”
The nickname does something to you, and your face flushes.
The towel makes contact with his skin and he hisses. Your hand doesn’t move, letting him adjust to the sting. Then with a small nod, you continue the first cleaning. Once all the grime is scrubbed away, you find the first aid kit in the cabinet under the sink. The antiseptic is next, then the gauze, then the tape.
It took a little longer than thirty minutes to get him patched up. He’d have to see someone to get it properly looked at tomorrow, but this would be okay for now.
You couldn’t ignore the way he was looking at you the whole time. His eyes were swimming with guilt, pain, and something else you weren’t sure you wanted to name.
When you’re finally done, you stand to your full height. He’s looking up at you now from where he’s sitting. Both of you don’t pay mind to the biohazard on the floor next to you, just simply getting lost in each other again.
So much more was said in the quiet of the bathroom than in the past week you’ve been here. It feels like you’re seeing each other again for the first time in the fluorescent bathroom light. It was as if something clicked for you two.
“You’re not fourteen anymore you know that right?” You’re still looking in between his emerald green irises when you start to mumble. “You can’t jump straight into a fight and crash through my window expecting me to patch you up.”
His eyes are half lidded, squinting in disbelief, like he isn’t sure if this is real. That you’re here and teasing him.
“But you patch me up so well.” His voice is a low rumble, words meshing together out of delirium and exhaustion. “It’s also technically my window.”
A snort comes out of your nose along with a roll of your eyes.
“Let’s get you to bed big guy.” You start to hook his arm over your shoulder and he breaks into a sly smile.
“You think I’m big?”
“Yes.”
A small pout appears on his face when you won’t play this game with him. As much as you loved a good round of teasing, you were far too stressed to try and keep up with it right now. Your goal for the evening was to get him to the bed alive and make sure he doesn’t die.
Again.
After he lies down, you sit next to him on the bed with your legs crossed. He’s bound to fall asleep any moment now, but you want to keep his eyes open a little longer. It was part in worry and part selfishness. This way you could make sure he was actually okay by the time he drifted off while also getting to stare into the eyes that you used to feel like home.
“I’m sorry.”
The apology snaps you out of your daze. It’s the first coherent sentence he’s managed since busting through the window.
“It’s alright.” Your hands shake while you try to wave it off. “This is hardly the first time you’ve shown up beaten and bruised needing a cleanup.”
He came to you as much as he could to patch him up when you were younger. You’d had enough practice patching Wally up that he trusted you.
“No, I’m sorry about what I said to you that night.” Your veins turn to ice. “I was an asshole. You were trying to be nice and I pushed you away. That wasn’t fair to you.”
He takes a deep breath.
“I was a mess when I crawled out of my grave, the pit wasn’t a big help either. I was so angry with the world, upset that it brought me back.” His eyes lay on the popcorned roof now. “I was even more pissed that the world hadn’t changed while I was gone, it was still the same shit. I was horrible to everything and everyone. I… I lost my way.”
“You were the only good thing left here.” His eyes are back on you now. “When you came to see me, it scared me. It was like you saw right through me and everything I didn’t want to deal with was rising in my chest. I couldn’t handle it. So, I said some nasty shit to get you to go away. It was disgusting of me and it’s my biggest regret in this and every life I’ll ever live. I’ll never forgive myself for it. In a way, it felt easier to stay in that angry hole than to grow.”
You weren’t sure how you kept your breath even, it was like every time you managed some oxygen, it was robbed from you.
“Eventually though, I finally started getting help and wanted to get better. I’ve been trying every day to be better than who I was. To be someone who could be something. I don’t want you to think that these are excuses, they’re not.” His eyes are so conflicted, he can’t read your reaction and it’s terrifying him. “I just wanted you to know, I guess. If you never want to talk to me again, I completely understand. I’ll never bother you and I’ll leave you to your life.”
There’s a pause and your heart sinks.
“But if there’s a chance you’d be willing to try again, I had to give it a shot. I’ll spend every day making sure you know I’m serious about this. I’ll do it all this time. I’ll take you to dinner, I’ll give you your space, I’ll bake you cookies every Sunday night just like you always wanted.” His breathing pattern is broken and it shudders when he tries to breathe in.
You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. Your hands begun tracing the web of scars on his chest. A fingernail along the constellation he had over his heart. He shuddered, the intimacy of seeing him like this was almost as difficult as the vulnerability in the apology.
Eventually your hand lays flat on his chest, feeling the warmth. Your palm was right over his heart, it was beating a little quicker than normal but it was your favorite rhythm. His thumb and pointer finger wrap around your wrist. It was a loose grip, you could break out whenever and he kept it that way, but it was still strong enough that you could feel the hope behind it when he says,
“Stay.”
Your head whips back to him and desperation is written across his forehead.
There was still so much you had to talk about, so much you needed to get through. But right now, when he’s looking at you like you’re the most important person on the planet, you can’t stop yourself from indulging.
He watches you walk to the other side of the bed. His breath catches in his throat when you pull back the covers. He starts to believe in love again when you scoot closer to him.
His eyes are on yours when you make eye contact again, mere centimeters apart.
“I’m sorry.” He repeats again. And this time, you know it.
You know he’ll spend the rest of his life making up for seventeen months.
Your hand rests on his cheek and he leans into it. His eyes close and he breathes in the feeling. You’re not entirely shocked when his arms are pulling you into him. The rest of the night passes with him whispering sweet nothings into your ear.
And for the first time all week, you both fall asleep together.
•───────•°•𓄧•°•───────•
Bonus:
Once he’s finished his own patrol, Dick Grayson appears at his little brother’s window.
Jason had disappeared after the fight in the middle of patrol. They knew he had gotten hurt but he said he would patch himself up at home. Bruce was fighting an aneurysm, trying to keep him safe but not push him out of his comfort zone. When Jason cut his comms, Bruce almost tore the apartment door from its hinges, but Dick convinced him that he would drop by and check on him.
What he finds however, renders him speechless.
Jason was in bed with the one person he thought was going to buy him a one way ticket to his grave again. His arm was wrapped protectively around your waist, almost in fear of letting you go. Even in a state of crippling pain, you were always his priority.
At the heartwarming scene, Dick has one thought that turns his body to ice.
Wally is going to kill him.
•───────•°•𓄧•°•───────•
A/N: Sorry guys I got kind of lazy with the ending but I hope you like it anyway! I’m really tired and wanted to finally get this out lol
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