Jason Todd was running. Who the fuck just rolls over and dies like that? He leaves you alone for one month–one fucking month–and you fucking die, just like that?
He was exasperated.
Where was he going? Fuck it, if he knew. He arrived at one of his safe houses and beelined to the bedroom. The nightstand beside it had a safe, and after punching in your birthday in reverse order as the password, it beeped and let him take out one of his burner phones.
He texted his group, his mob, any vehicular accidents within the last month?
Responses started flooding in. Tons, apparently. Gotham was a fucking pit of despair and vehicular “accidents”. He didn’t fucking know where to start.
Batcave, he thought. Jason knew he could probably zero in on more information, if he wasn’t in fear of asking around and using your name, giving more ammo for randos to find his connection to you.
One fucking month.
Was it so fucking difficult for you to fucking stay put for one fucking month, and stay alive, just for one goddam’ month?!
He was begging whatever gods or fucking entity loved to fuck around, that you were still fucking alive.
Fuck!
He had to talk to Tim.
You had to be alive, right?
You fucking had to be.
________________________________
He came fresh from his Red Hood get up, motorcycle in hand, revved up into the batcave.
Tim Drake stood a little straighter.
“I need info on someone.” Jason was never really a guy who did small talk, not a lot anyways. He was often curt and direct to the point.
“Which case are you workin’ on? Sionis? More Black Mask stuff?” Tim asked not looking away from the surveillance cameras. He took a sip of his coffee, black, no sugar, extra caffinated for these interactions.
“Yes, no,” Jason was frazzled. He took of his helmet. “Maybe. Look, I just need you to find someone.” He moved closer, still holding his Red Hood helmet. “Grayson.”
That got Tim’s attention. Nightwing? He had only personally known another Grayson, apart from Dick.
Jason mentioned your name, like a prayer. Almost begging. Maybe he was. Maybe he was praying–begging–that you were still alive.
Huh, Tim thought. “An informant of yours?”
“She’s my fucking girlfriend.” Jason huffed.
The batcave stood still, and even with its eerie quietness, became even more pin-drop silent. Jason Todd had a fucking girlfriend?
Tim looked at his face. It wasn’t the smug face he was used to or was expecting. He was expecting Jason to gloat. To rub it in his face.
Instead, he was met with raw and unfiltered desperation, “I need her file, and I need to find out which hospital she’s in”.
He worked his magic. This was one of the few times he hadn’t been called replacement, so this must have been urgent. Also, hospitalized girlfriend was not on the things he expected to do today. It took a few seconds, and even he was flabbergasted.
He knew you.
And worst of all, in big red bold letters, it said, for both robins to see
Deceased.
Do Not Resuscitate.
_____________________________
“How are you feeling?”
A voice came from above you. You were lying down, on, what is it, a bed at least, not on the side of the road this time, thankfully.
You groaned, opening and closing your eyes, owlishly, seeing white all over. White lights and white-ish walls.
You took the oxygen mask off.
“Like I got run over by a truck,” you replied hoarsely. Water. Your mind wanted something, anything liquid to quench the thirst.
“It was an ambulance. Not a truck.” Semantics? Were they really critical to someone who had just collided with a huge vehicle?
“Lucky me,” you whispered, sarcastically. It fucking felt like a truck hit you, not a fucking ambulance, but you couldn’t technically compare the two, being actually run over by a truck wasn’t on your to do list.
You darted your eyes to the voice, squinting to get a clear picture of him. Old man, white hair, receding hairline, and scars on the edge of his mouth, at least, one side of it.
“Where–” you tried to swallow your own spit in your mouth for lubrication, “where am I?”
“You're in a classified location. In the Pentagon.” Your eyes grew wide. If he didn't have your full attention before, he had it now.
“Name’s Cecil Stedman. I work for the United States government on matters of utmost importance. I'm the head of GDA, The Global Defense Alliance. I used to work with your brother, Mark, Invincible,” You heard a bit of contempt in his voice. Did your younger brother not give enough to the world? Hasn't he given enough already? He already had to fucking drop out of college to save the world constantly, what else did they want from him?
“It appears that you were lucky–” you winced at his choice of words. He paid you no mind and continued, “that your viltrumite DNA kicked in after your death.”
Death?
You died?
“You were dead for approximately 11 minutes. You were resuscitated and you came back a viltrumite. Bones healed. No fractures or major injuries. You have been in a coma for about a month.
Now that you're awake, I have to ask,
Will you be a liability to your country or an asset?”
_____________________________
“I have a DNR.” You said stupidly, you started to sit down on the hospital bed that you were laying down on.
“Look kid, I'm not gonna ask again. Are you an asset or a liability?”
“An asset,” you croaked, coughing and asking for water.
“I'm not, I'm not anything. I'm not a threat. I'm just me. I, I just wanna see my mom and my brothers. She said Mark and Ollie were hurt?”
That was why you were here. Not for some story about being a viltrumite and coming back to life. You were here for your family. Where were they?
“Alright, kid, we'll call your mom and your brothers. They're fine. Your brothers recovered faster than you.”
As if on cue, Debbie came running in, “Oh, I was so scared. I can't believe you got hit by an ambulance!” She hugged you immediately.
Mark and Ollie came, floating into the room, “Welcome back, sis”. Mark greeted in his invincible suit, and Ollie zoomed in with his kid Omni man suit too. “Does this mean you'll also be a superhero? You'll be able to fly and fight crime!”
You smiled at your youngest, “Yeah, Ollie.” You were still unsure about the whole thing, but you were glad.
“Mark and I can teach you how to fly and punch and fight bad guys!” Ollie continued.
Glad that you had a family to come back to.
Whatever bullshit the universe had in store for you, you were begging that you would be able to deal with it together.
