An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Pairing: Jason Todd/Jason Todd
Rating: E
Words: 6,036
After a mission leaves him stranded in an alternate dimension, omega Jason finds himself rooming with a younger, alpha version of himself—one who only recently had his final confrontation with Bruce. The last thing he expects is to get attached. Unfortunately for him, his instincts have other ideas.
this was not the prompt i expected to grab me, but here we are! it was supposed to be like... 2k, especially since i decided to forgo set up. i don't... i don't know what happened, lmao.
i couldn't think of a title that wasn't silly, so i decided to just name it after their scents, lmao.
preview under the cut:
Jason is steps away from the kitchen when he hears it—a whimper, almost inaudible in the darkness. It’s followed by the sharp scent of distress, turning pleasant clove-and-smoke into something burnt and ashy.
His heartstrings twist painfully; feet moving almost without his permission, carrying him into the living room where Jay is curled up into a tight ball on the couch. Like this, he looks so much smaller than 6’1. His face is twisted with pain, brow furrowed, face scrunched in a way that compels Jason forward. He stops short of actually touching him. It’s never a good idea to startle a sleeping vigilante… even, or maybe especially, an injured one.
So instead, Jason kneels just out of arm’s reach and unfurls his scent. Clove-and-honey trickles over the burnt-ash scent, and Jason croons, soft and inviting.
Jay’s nose twitches, head turning. He whimpers again; this time with a questioning lilt.
It’s—odd, feeling so protective over someone wearing his face, especially when that someone is currently living through a period in time he’d rather forget. He’s spent years untangling the mess of feelings in his chest. The anger and hurt; hatred and regret. The self-hatred. He’s finally gotten to a point in his life where he’s… maybe okay. Getting thrust back here, even in an alternate dimension…
He’d expected to go through it all again. To take it out on himself, or the boy sharing his face.
But…
All Jason wants to do is bundle him up in a nest. Wrap him in soft blankets, surround him with pillows, and hold him until he stops smelling so hurt. Until he remembers what it’s like to feel safe and warm in the arms of another.
It’s… Jason’s not really sure what to make of the feelings. But he’s been trying to be more—open. And right now, at least, Jay needs someone. There’s no Roy. No Lian. No Kori. No Biz. No bat-pack. Just him.
He shuffles closer, answering the plaintive whimper with another croon; this one coaxing. Come to me , it says. I’ll take care of you . His scent swells with it; inviting and protective and omega-sweet.
Jay twists. His nose twitches again, this time with an adorable snuffle. He uncurls, just a little. He reaches out, obviously questing, so Jason lets him catch his hand. The alpha squeezes him so tightly he thinks he might bruise.
Jason shuffles closer, almost touching the couch. He makes a soft sound in his throat.
Jay’s eyes snap open, glowing eerie green in the dark. He pushes up on an elbow, eyes darting through the shadows until he lands on Jason’s face. His eyes are glassy. Unshed tears cling to his lashes. Jason’s chest aches again; though this time it feels like there’s something a little more than just sympathy. He ignores it. Instead, he calls softly; invitingly, opening his arms—and finds himself knocked backward, falling on his ass and clutching tightly to a lapful of alpha, neck wet with tears as Jay shakes in his arms.
written for the jayjaychallenge by @fade-works (also for @rogues8 who encouraged this among my near daily shrieking) featuring: fem!jay/ak!jay/rhato!jay because why stop at one or even two jasons when you can have three.
Jay doesn’t like what she sees.
Because all she sees are broken versions of herself eroded down to just pain and revenge, a nasty rusting edge along every seam. Like that is all they could be, like that is all they’ll ever amount to.
She didn’t go through the things that she did and do the things that she does to end up back on that first step. Their Bruce is not her Bryce. Whether their first step is the same as hers, she hasn’t gotten this far just to go back to the start to retrace her steps. She has refused that reality once and she will do it again.
She will not change even for them.
Jay breathes out through her teeth in a long slow seethe, drawing their attention right back to her.
Even when she’s in a room with versions of who is essentially her in this universe and another one if their confusion with each other is any indication at all, she is still the odd one out. Jay knows there is probably a few things that she can read into from that alone but she also knows there are bigger badder issues right here right now that she probably shouldn’t try shooting her way through.
He calls himself Jason, and the other, well, she’ll settle for calling him J for the time being. They are both her, alternate selves and all that.
Universe hopping and falling between alternate realities are nothing new. A run of the mill happenstance. But Jay finds that there are constants that hold true in varying degrees of truthfulness in every single one.
If there is one thing more heartbreaking than the Jason Todd of this universe, of course it would be the Jason Todd of another.
Jay might not like this but she loves that she is not the one at the bottom of the barrel. Rotten apples might not fall far from the tree but hers is hardly the first one to rot to the core.
“So boys,” she starts, peeling back her domino mask to blink her blue-green eyes at theirs, “how’re we gonna do this?”
Jason looks a good mix of caution and concerned. J looks just about ready to throw the first punch. Jay doesn’t blame him.
She tries another way, the way that never works, the one that has her attempting a smile of the genuine kind.
“Stop that.” Jason tells her.
And J follows right after with: “It looks painful.”
“It is.” She answers them both with a grimace that looks no different than her try for a smile. She stops at that because they can talk about trauma, and Jay is sure that there is more than enough of that between the three of them to talk about until their worlds realign themselves to take them home. But really.
She knows herself, and by extension, she knows them too.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.” Jay tells them, the delivery of her words are mean but the way her mouth curves is deliberate. She confirms their hunch without saying the exact words, gives them an opportunity to say no to what could be delivered in every manner that is both crass and explicit.
Because there is nothing subtle to the way she drops her gaze, down to the holsters pulled taut across Jason’s thighs to drag upwards. Slow and appreciative at the sharp cut of J’s waist coloured in black and gray and red camouflage beneath the extensive armour of his suit. Up and up, across the bright red bat of Red Hood’s chest then over the symbol of the Arkham Knight.
Jay doesn’t smile when she catches the hard swallow at J’s throat or the slow rising flush to Jason’s cheeks. She doesn’t have to.
She sees the way they are looking right back at her.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
For years, Jason's life has had a predictable structure provided by the church. He cannot claim peace, but he can claim atonement for the life he led, prior to his death, and his second chance.
But the world fissures when a young, broken version of him is birthed from death in an old cemetery, and Jason has to wonder if perhaps there is more to life and his second chance than simply redemption. Perhaps peace has been an option all along.
