What Burns Cannot Break — Chapter 6
Synopsis: Jason Todd never planned to like you. Not the half-demon who somehow ended up playing father figure to the brat who used to threaten to stab him every other Tuesday. But then again, you weren't like Bruce. You didn't lecture, didn't judge—you just were yourself. He made jokes about Damian calling you 'Father.' But somewhere between the sarcastic remarks and late-night talks, Jason realized that he actually liked having you around. He'd never admit it, but he envied the easy bond you had with Damian—the affection, the patience, the unspoken trust. He wasn't looking for another father. But he didn't mind having a friend.
.
.
.
Affection had always come with strings.
Usually tied tight enough to choke you.
Jason learned that early—too early. From the kind of shitty parents who only use you and then throw you away like trash, to the kind of city that ate you alive the second you thought you mattered. Then Bruce came along with a mission, a cowl, and the promise of purpose. Jason thought that was love too, for a while. The kind that made your knuckles ache and your lungs burn with every rooftop leap. The kind that promised 'you're not alone' but always left you standing in the dark when it mattered most.
You get close, you get hurt. That was the rule. Always had been.
So when Jason started noticing the cracks in that rule—because of you—it threw him off balance.
He hadn't meant to care. He really hadn't.
It started with the kid—Damian. The little demon himself. Jason had expected the usual arrogance, the 'I'm-better-than-you' sword-swinging attitude, and Damian didn't disappoint. But you... you met that chaos with patience.
You listened to Damian rant about tactics and honor and legacy, never once mocking him. You corrected him gently, and when the boy's pride cracked, you didn't make him bleed for it.
You laughed. Laughed. Real, happy.
Jason had forgotten what that even sounded like in this house.
And when Dick—golden boy himself—came orbiting around you like he always does with people he loves, you didn't turn him away either. Jason saw that too. Saw how Dick relaxed around you, how that restless energy melted into something boyish and light. How Damian didn't flinch when you ruffled his hair.
Wayne Manor hadn't seen moments like that in a long time. Maybe ever.
Jason wasn't sure if he was jealous or curious. Maybe both.
Because if you could look at them like that... what did that mean for someone like him?
Jason wasn't the type to envy easily. He'd rather crack a joke or light a fire than sit in the ashes of what he didn't have. But lately, every time you looked at Damian—softly, with patience that didn't run out—he coudn't stop thinking:
If I'd had you back then... maybe I wouldn't have come back so angry.
The thought came uninvited, sharp as glass. He didn't even believe it at first. But it stayed. Like a splinter under the skin, too small to dig out, too deep to ignore.
And the worst part? You didn't even do anything special. You didn't try to win him over. You just... showed up. Said hi when you crossed paths in the kitchen. Asked if he'd eaten. Treated him like someone who wasn't about to explode, like someone who didn't need fixing.
And Jason didn't know what to do with that.
He'd been treated like a weapon, a mistake, a ghost. Never like—well, whatever the hell this was.
He started noticing you more, even when he didn't mean to.
Wayne Manor used to feel like a graveyard. But when you visited and were around, there was... noise. Real noise. Laughter. Arguments that didn't end in slammed doors.
Jason would never admit it, but he liked that.
The reason for your visits was always the same lately: Damian.
Sometimes you dropped by to check on the kid's training progress or to drop off new schematics for his equipment—gifts wrapped in purpose so Bruce couldn't accuse you of 'spoiling' him. Other times, Alfred invited you over under the excuse of dinner, claiming it was "Only proper, sir, given how much Master Damian values your guidance."
But everyone knew the truth.
You'd become part of this strange, broken little family—an extra piece that didn't quite fit anywhere, but somehow made everything else hold together.
Jason didn't realize how much he'd gotten used to that until the day he walked into the kitchen and saw you sitting at the counter with Alfred, sleeves rolled up, a mug in hand, laughing about something Damian had said.
It was late. Too late for anyone normal to be awake.
Jason had just returned from patrol, helmet under his arm, boots tracking Gotham's grime onto the tiles. Then his blue gaze fell on you.
There you were, sitting next to Damian. Calm. Grounded. Like the house bent toward you without meaning to.
"Rough night?" You asked.
Jason hummed. "Something like that."
You nodded, gesturing to the seat across from you and Damian. "Alfred was about to make coffee. Sit down before he finds a reason to scold us both."
Jason smirked. "You mean before he throws us out?"
"Don't tempt fate."
You said it like a joke, but there was warmth in it. Jason hesitated a moment, then sat.
It wasn't the first time you'd spoken, but it was the first time Jason didn't feel like he had to keep his guard up. Maybe it was the hour. Maybe it was how you didn't ask questions he didn't want to answer.
For a while, the only sound was the quiet clink of spoons and the ticking of the kitchen clock.
Then you spoke, almost absently, "You did well tonight."
"You were watching?"
"Tim showed me the comm footage," You replied, sipping your drink. "You stopped the smuggling ring before GCPD even got wind of it. Efficient."
Damian remained silent—a rare thing—glancing at the two of you from the corner of his eye. Jason waited for a snarky remark, as common of the little brat. But it didn't come.
Perhaps the demon spawn was finally learning not to be so possessive of you.
Jason tilted his head, trying to figure both of you out. "You actually watched the footage?"
Damian huffed. "Do you take my Father for a liar?"
That shouldn't have meant much. But it did.
Bruce rarely commented on his patrols anymore—unless Jason crossed a line. Dick offered advice, Tim asked for reports. But you and Damian? You just acknowledged it. Like it was something worth seeing.
Jason tried to look nonchalant, leaning back in the chair. "Wasn't that hard. Just scared the crap out of them, mostly."
"Fear works," Damian nodded.
You gave him a warning look, and then returned your gaze to Jason.
"So does mercy."
Jason snorted. "You sound like Bruce, Y/n."
You smiled faintly. "I sound like someone who's seen both."
That silence stretched again, but this time it wasn't uncomfortable.
Jason studied you. There was something in your crimson eyes that wasn't pity, wasn't judgment. And damn it, he hated how much that got to him.
Don't go soft now, Todd.
But maybe softness wasn't the enemy he thought it was.
He started talking to you more after that. Small stuff at first—sarcastic quips, half-hearted jabs about Damian's 'daddy complex.' You always laughed, even when the jokes had a little bite to them. And you never flinched away from him. Not once.
That alone earned you something most people never got: Jason's trust.
It wasn't a grand confession or anything. Only small, quiet moments. Like when you'd help patch his armor without making a big deal out of it. Or when you'd bring a cup of coffee to the garage, wordlessly sliding it his way before tinkering with one of your gadgets.
Once, he caught himself watching your hands as you worked—steady, precise, gentle in a way Jason didn't think gentleness could coexist with power.
No wonder the kid looks up to you, he thought. You make it look easy.
He didn't realize he'd said that last part out loud until you smiled.
"Easy? It's not. But I don't want Damian to think love has to hurt."
Jason didn't reply. He couldn't. Because that sentence landed somewhere deep—somewhere he didn't want touched.
A week later, after another night of patrol, Jason showed up at your apartment unannounced. He had tracked down your address.
And yet, you didn't look surprised to see him. Just raised an eyebrow, stepped aside, and said, "You hungry?"
He wasn't, but he nodded anyway.
You cooked. He watched.
It wasn't awkward. It was quiet and comfortable.
However, you cooked horribly. When he took a bite of what you prepared, his face twisted like he just ate dog shit. "What the hell is this?"
He grabbed a napkin and spit the food into it.
You smirked, mischievous as hell. "I offered food, yes—but I never said it would be good..."
You were learning to cook, okay? It was... work on progress.
He glared at you. "Seriously? You call this cooking?"
"It's edible... technically. If you squint." You insisted.
With a sigh, he stood up and walked to the stove.
"I will cook."
You didn't stop him, just casually leaned against the counter and let him use your kitchen.
Minutes later, Jason placed several plates on the table. You blinked.
"Well, aren't you going to eat?" Jason sank into the seat in front of you.
"Yeah, yeah. On it."
You picked up a fork and brought a spoonful of food to your mouth. You didn't have high expectations. But when the taste hit your tongue, your face lit up.
"Wow, this is actually very good." You praised.
"You have a talent for this, Todd."
Jason watched you devour everything and not leave a single crumb, a tiny grin spreading across his lips. Yeah, his cooking is wonderful.
After dinner, he lingered by the window, city lights flickering across his face. "Y/n, you ever regret it?" He asked suddenly. "Getting involved with us. The freakshow family."
You looked up from the dishes. "No. Do you?"
Jason laughed dryly. "Every other Tuesday."
"Mm." You wiped your hands with a towel. "Then I guess we're both still here for a reason."
That night, as Jason walked home, something shifted. It wasn't redemption, not even close. But it was the first time in a long while he didn't feel like the city was trying to eat him alive.
Jason enjoyed spending time with you when his schedule allowed.
And when Damian would come storming in, demanding your attention, Jason would just roll his eyes. He let the kid have you. Because for the first time in years, he didn't feel like he had to fight for space.
You'd already made room for him.
And that, Jason realized, was enough.
