Jason Todd x Roy Harper, no capes AU, +50k works, T, slow burn.
Roy Harper always knew that behind the Wonder Boy smile, Dick Grayson was as cunning and manipulative as they come. Especially when it came to family. So when Dick calls in a favor, and Roy ends up signing on as the ASL interpreter for his estranged brother, he has no idea what he’s really signing up for.
Jason Todd is brooding, arrogant, and scarred by more than just trauma: a walking disaster with a tongue sharp enough to draw blood. But Roy figures he can handle it. He’s seen worse. Done worse. Hell, standing half-naked in front of strangers doesn’t even crack his Top Ten Most Embarrassing Moments.
Dodging bullets in broad daylight, though? Yeah. That definitely wasn’t in the job description.
"Look, I’m sorry. This is just… new." Roy scrubs a hand through his hair. "I care about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you — is that really so hard to get?" His voice softens, hands signing gently now.
"I’m deaf, not stupid."
Roy is going to fucking strangle him at this rate."That’s not what I meant and you damn well know it!"
Read from the start or on AO3
"What the hell, Dick?" Roy’s voice echoes through the cavernous space, brittle with an edge that feels dangerously close to hysterical — and completely justified. "What’s going on? Who’s after Jason, and why?"
"Calm down," Dick says, like Roy is the unreasonable one here.
Roy is being extremely reasonable, thank you very much.
"Sit," Dick insists, dropping onto a nearby bench. "It’s a long story."
Roy crosses his arms and stays standing. If he can’t control the situation, he can at least control himself. "Make it short."
Dick doesn’t. To be fair, the story he launches into isn’t one you can neatly compress.
"How much do you know about the man who kidnapped Jason?" Dick asks carefully, obviously unsure on how much Roy already knows.
"Enough," Roy says tightly. His fists clench as he remembers the betrayal that left Jason deaf, broken, and barely alive.
Dick’s eyebrows lift. He clearly hadn’t expected that. Roy’s face heats — curse his traitor complexion — giving away more than he intended about how much Jason has confided in him.
Not the point. Moving on, Grayson.
Dick lets it go. "He escaped," he says grimly. "Not long after Jason’s public appearance at the gala. The one where you met him."
The pieces slide into place with sickening ease.
Jason living in near-total isolation. The gala — his first public appearance since the kidnapping. Dick insisting the buzz around Jason was half the reason the event exploded in the press.
A pit forms in Roy’s stomach. "You think the publicity is why he broke out?"
Dick nods, guilt heavy on his face. "Maybe. There’s no way to be sure. But the timeline fits. And if that’s the case… it’s on me."
Roy exhales through his nose as Dick keeps going.
"Jason didn’t want the spotlight. He was fine staying anonymous, but I—" Dick scrubs a hand through his hair. "I pushed him. I wanted him to reclaim his life."
And look where that got us, Roy thinks, uncharitable and tired.
The Waynes always mean well. They just have a chronic problem with deciding what’s best for Jason without asking him. The fallout of that habit is getting harder to ignore.
"But why Jason?" Roy asks. "Why is this guy so fixated on him?"
Dick’s jaw tightens. "The Joker is a psychopath."
Yeah. No kidding.
"And a sadist," Dick adds quietly. "He believes that if you push someone far enough, anyone can be broken. All it takes is the right kind of trauma."
That kind of psychopath, then.
Roy feels sick imagining what Jason endured. He wishes the explanation would stop there.
It doesn’t.
"He tried with Jason," Dick says. "But Jason didn’t break."
Didn’t, Roy thinks. Came close.
Jason had admitted as much — the anger, the fear of losing control, the constant vigilance against himself.
Roy breathes out slowly. He knows the ugly truth behind that theory better than most. Under the right circumstances, anyone can be pushed into doing things they never thought possible.
But he knows this too: everyone may have a breaking point, but what you choose in that moment still matters.
And Jason is not a killer. No matter how much he might believe otherwise.
"Does Jason know?" Roy asks.
Dick hesitates. That’s answer enough.
"Bruce didn’t tell him," Dick admits. "He thought he was protecting him. Jason figured something was wrong when Bruce wouldn’t budge on the bodyguards."
"Shocking," Roy mutters, shaking his head.
"During the attack, Jason…" He pauses, considering his choices right now. None of them are good, but he might at least try some honesty here, on the off chance of Dick learning by example about the value of transparency in a crisis.
A man can dream.
"Jason kind of lost it during the fight. He nearly beat a guy to death." An hesitation. It might not be Dick’s problem, but with everything he just learned, Roy figures he should share his concern. "But he didn’t care, justified it by saying they were after him."
Dick’s eyes widen. "What?"
"It’s the second attempt on his life," Roy says bluntly. "He’s not stupid. He knows something’s going on. You’re his brother, Dick. Talk to him before he he crosses a line he can’t walk back from."
Dick looks devastated, guilt and worry plain on his face.
Roy feels no satisfaction in it. Just bone-deep exhaustion.
He knows what it’s like to teeter on the edge of something you can’t control, to fight not to fall and give in into what's skimming just beneath the surface.
All he can do is hope the Joker doesn’t succeed where he failed before.
"I get why you picked me," Roy says quietly. "And I don’t buy for a second that my military background was just a bonus." He meets Dick’s eyes. "If you want me to stay, you keep me in the loop. No more half-truths. You owe me that."
He doesn’t wait for an answer.
Roy turns and walks away, leaving Dick standing alone in the Cave.
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Jason Todd x Roy Harper, no capes AU, +50k works, T, slow burn.
Roy Harper always knew that behind the Wonder Boy smile, Dick Grayson was as cunning and manipulative as they come. Especially when it came to family. So when Dick calls in a favor, and Roy ends up signing on as the ASL interpreter for his estranged brother, he has no idea what he’s really signing up for.
Jason Todd is brooding, arrogant, and scarred by more than just trauma: a walking disaster with a tongue sharp enough to draw blood. But Roy figures he can handle it. He’s seen worse. Done worse. Hell, standing half-naked in front of strangers doesn’t even crack his Top Ten Most Embarrassing Moments.
Dodging bullets in broad daylight, though? Yeah. That definitely wasn’t in the job description.
"Look, I’m sorry. This is just… new." Roy scrubs a hand through his hair. "I care about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you — is that really so hard to get?" His voice softens, hands signing gently now.
"I’m deaf, not stupid."
Roy is going to fucking strangle him at this rate. "That’s not what I meant and you damn well know it!"
Read from the start or on AO3
They’re sitting in the back of the car, the steady hum of the engine thrumming beneath them as Bizarro maneuvers them through the quiet Gotham streets. Artemis sits up front, sharp-eyed and coiled like always, her vigilance practically a seatbelt of its own. Roy adjusts his actual one, squinting out the window at the modest row of brick townhouses sliding by. Beside him, Jason leans back in his seat, looking uncharacteristically relaxed.
Jason glances over, something unreadable flickering in those sharp blue eyes. He straightens slightly, voice casual. "How was the exhibit? The one Kori got you tickets for."
Roy raises an eyebrow, caught off guard. Jason isn’t usually one for small talk, but it’s not unwelcome. "Oh, Lian loved it," he says, signing as he speaks. "You should’ve seen her face. There were dinosaur skeletons bigger than the room, interactive exhibits where she got to launch a fake rocket… She’s been talking about it nonstop. Running around the apartment pretending to be an astronaut. It’s the happiest I’ve seen her in weeks."
Jason nods, something soft flickering behind his stoic façade, and Roy decides to have a little fun. "Kori really nailed it with those tickets. There was a gift pack at the museum, with activity sheets and a stuffed T. rex that Lian’s been carrying everywhere. It’s challenging the bunny you got her at the zoo for favorite plush status."
Jason shifts, and Roy catches a tiny flicker of irritation in his eyes before he smooths it away.
Gotcha.
Roy sighs dreamily — maybe a little too loud. "Kori really got that one right."
In the corner of his eye, he sees Jason press his lips together in the faintest pout. Barely noticeable. Unless you know him.
"It was to be expected, though," Roy says, leaning into it now. "Kori’s got this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. Figure her idea of a gift would be just as thoughtful."
Jason hums — low, dismissive — but his posture says otherwise. Roy can practically see the tension vibrating under that leather jacket.
Oh yeah. Hooked.
He bites back a grin, giddy in a way he has no right to be. Christmas came early this year. He decides to push, just a little. See how far Jason will go before he cracks.
"Honestly, Kori’s a catch," Roy says, his grin widening as Jason visibly stiffens. "Smart, gorgeous, great with kids — what more could you want?"
Jason turns to him fully, blue eyes sharp now. "If you think so much of her," he says flatly, his lips forming the words with deliberate precision, "maybe you should ask her out."
Hook, line and simmer.
Roy can’t help it. He bursts out laughing.
"Don’t get me wrong, Kori’s exactly my type. But I’ve got… varied interests." He punctuates the words with a waggle of his eyebrows.
Jason freezes for just a heartbeat, long enough for Roy to catch the faint flush creeping up his ears.
Roy keeps his gaze locked on him while switching to ASL, keeping the next part private. His grin spreads, slow and wicked, his hands already moving. For the record. Kori told me whose idea the tickets were. He leans a little closer, dragging the sign through the air like he’s pulling the confession right out of Jason’s chest. Yours.
Jason’s eyes narrow — hard — but there’s no fire behind it, only that faint stiffness that means he’s trying to keep his blush at bay. His shoulders lift, arms crossing over his chest in that classic Todd defense move.
Roy isn’t done. He shifts his weight, signing smaller now, fingers flicking with a teasing rhythm. No need to act shy. I see right through you, Jaybird.
Jason exhales through his nose, a sharp little sound that’s more embarrassment than anger. He turns toward the window, head tilted just enough that Roy can still see the faint pink climbing up his neck.
When he finally replies, his signs are clipped — defensive, and maybe a little rushed, like he wants the words over with. She was NOT supposed to tell you. The negation comes with a single quick slice of his thumb under his chin — more annoyed with himself than with Roy. His expression settles somewhere between irritation and resignation.
Roy watches, warmth blooming low in his chest. He has no business feeling this way about him, but… Jason Todd-Wayne — six feet of stubborn muscle and attitude — sulking? Because of him?
It’s ridiculous.
And so damn endearing he can’t stand it.
He looks away, trying to wrestle his expression back under control, watching the streets slide past outside. No use. The grin wins.
That’s when he sees it.
A truck barreling toward them from the cross street, fast and wrong.
Roy’s brain does the math before the fear even registers. Speed. Angle. Distance.
His body moves before thought catches up. His muscles locks, adrenaline snaps through his veins.
It’s coming right at them.
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Jason Todd x Roy Harper, no capes AU, +50k works, T, slow burn.
Roy Harper always knew that behind the Wonder Boy smile, Dick Grayson was as cunning and manipulative as they come. Especially when it came to family. So when Dick calls in a favor, and Roy ends up signing on as the ASL interpreter for his estranged brother, he has no idea what he’s really signing up for.
Jason Todd is brooding, arrogant, and scarred by more than just trauma: a walking disaster with a tongue sharp enough to draw blood. But Roy figures he can handle it. He’s seen worse. Done worse. Hell, standing half-naked in front of strangers doesn’t even crack his Top Ten Most Embarrassing Moments.
Dodging bullets in broad daylight, though? Yeah. That definitely wasn’t in the job description.
"Look, I’m sorry. This is just… new." Roy scrubs a hand through his hair. "I care about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you — is that really so hard to get?" His voice softens, hands signing gently now.
"I’m deaf, not stupid."
Roy is going to fucking strangle him at this rate. "That’s not what I meant and you damn well know it!"
Read from the start or on AO3
Well. Actually, there is one place.
Roy would like the record to show that, despite any reservations he may have held against libraries in the past, they have very much become his favorite place of late. And not just because of the company.
It’s the shelves.
The ceiling-high shelves, packed tight with noise-absorbing paperbacks, arranged in orderly rows that twist and turn into something almost labyrinthine. A fortress of paper and wood, muffling the world beyond it. Criminally underrated, in Roy’s entirely objective opinion.
“Mm— hm.”
The sound Jason makes when Roy mouths along the line of his jaw sends a small, satisfied thrill straight down Roy’s spine. New favorite sound. Easily.
Unfortunately, as effective as the Wayne Manor library shelves are at hiding them from view, Artemis and Bizarro are still stationed a few feet away, diligently guarding the doors. The illusion of privacy doesn’t fool Roy for a second. He has no doubt they both know exactly what Jason’s been up to every time he drags Roy between the stacks under the noble pretense of sharing a favorite book.
Partly because Jason and Roy haven’t exactly been subtle about the recent evolution of their relationship — if Artemis’s knowing smirk and Bizarro’s full-bodied laugh the first time they emerged flushed, disheveled, and slightly breathless are any indication.
And partly because Jason is, objectively speaking, deaf.
He can’t exactly hear himself.
And Roy—
Well. Roy has already established that he finds the sounds Jason makes deeply interesting. So maybe — maybe — he hasn’t been entirely forthcoming about just how audible Jason can be when Roy gets his hands on him.
Sometimes.
Honestly, it’s not even that bad. Voyeurism kink aside — and okay, fine, very much noted — they’ve been keeping things relatively PG. Lots of kissing; a frankly repressed-teenager amount. Hands wandering, sure — they’re not saints — but nothing they haven’t been able to stop before it crosses a line neither of them is ready for yet.
There might have been an incident involving unfortunate thigh placement that escalated faster than expected. But it was immediately followed by a very awkward — yet very mature — conversatin afterward about boundaries, readiness, and how the library was perhaps not the best testing ground for poor impulse control.
So. Yeah.
It’s been an interesting few days.
Jason being targeted again aside, of course.
The thought lands heavier than it should, pulling Roy’s focus away from the warmth pressed against him.
The fallout from the theater attack was almost tame. It’s sad, really, how quickly everyone around Jason learned to file attempted murder under business as usual.
By the time Artemis and Bizarro reached the theater, they were too relieved to find Jason alive to waste much energy scolding him for going alone — though they probably knew him well enough to realize it would be like yelling at a brick wall.
The cops took statements. Added them to what must be an impressive archive of useless paperwork. Shrugged at the lack of evidence. Sent everyone on their way.
Even Bruce managed to surprise Roy.
When they returned to the Manor and found him waiting in the hall with an expression like a hanging judge, Roy had braced himself for another Wayne-versus-Todd showdown. Instead, Bruce stepped forward and crushed Jason into a silent, bone-tight hug, like he was afraid that if he let go, Jason might vanish.
Jason’s stunned disbelief had almost been worth the trauma.
It only got better when his siblings piled on seconds later, the whole thing collapsing into a chaotic octopus of limbs and poorly aimed elbows.
No — strangely enough, the only people who actually lost their cool after the attack were Roy’s family.
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Jason Todd x Roy Harper, no capes AU, +50k works, T, slow burn.
Roy Harper always knew that behind the Wonder Boy smile, Dick Grayson was as cunning and manipulative as they come. Especially when it came to family. So when Dick calls in a favor, and Roy ends up signing on as the ASL interpreter for his estranged brother, he has no idea what he’s really signing up for.
Jason Todd is brooding, arrogant, and scarred by more than just trauma: a walking disaster with a tongue sharp enough to draw blood. But Roy figures he can handle it. He’s seen worse. Done worse. Hell, standing half-naked in front of strangers doesn’t even crack his Top Ten Most Embarrassing Moments.
Dodging bullets in broad daylight, though? Yeah. That definitely wasn’t in the job description.
"Look, I’m sorry. This is just… new." Roy scrubs a hand through his hair. "I care about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you — is that really so hard to get?" His voice softens, hands signing gently now.
"I’m deaf, not stupid.
"Roy is going to fucking strangle him at this rate. "That’s not what I meant and you damn well know it!"
Read from the start or on AO3
A few days later — true to his word, and after shamelessly strong-arming the medical team with charm, stubbornness, and thinly veiled threats of signing himself out — Roy gets discharged.
He’s ready to go.
Stitched, taped, and wrapped like a cautionary tale.
Jason is there to take him home.
Or rather — to the Manor. At least for now.
Between the follow-up appointments Roy will need, Lian’s newly acquired habit of roaming the place like she owns it — Roy is seriously considering checking Bruce’s will, because that man cannot be trusted to remain rational around children — and the current state of their apartment after the attack and a subsequent week of neglect…
It’s the sensible option.
It’s still weird.
All but moving in with Jason when their relationship still feels fragile.
When Jason still studies him sometimes like he’s waiting for the catch.
While they wait for the discharge paperwork, Roy tilts his head and lifts a hand, signing with deliberate casualness. Look, if it helps —
Jason’s eyes narrow immediately, suspicion settling in.
Roy ignores the warning and barrels ahead anyway. At least the worst already happened before we even properly got together.
Jason blinks.
Roy pushes off the bed slowly, teeth clenching as he lowers himself into the wheelchair the nurse insisted on for the ride out. Once settled, he looks back up, warming to the bit.
Think about it. His hands open like he’s presenting a perfectly reasonable argument. With Jade, the whole shadow-agency-ruining-my-life situation came after the relationship.
Jason’s expression goes flat in slow motion.
Roy keeps going, gesturing in Jason’s direction. But with you?
Your homicidal clown drama predates us. He spreads his hands with exaggerated reasonableness. We’re starting the relationship post-trauma.
Jason stares at him in open horror.
Then his hands come up, slow and deliberate, each sign placed with careful precision. Do not — the word lands like a warning — jinx it.
Roy grins, lopsided and completely unrepentant. Oh, come on. What are the odds —
He’s joking. Obviously.
But Jason’s face is absolutely worth it. If Roy could reach his phone without pulling something, he’d take a picture and send it to Dick immediately.
Roy. The warning in the movement alone would make lesser men reassess their life choices.
Too bad Roy already spent years doing exactly that — and recently decided to stop.
It’s like we’re ahead of schedule. He waves a hand dismissively. Trauma already peaked. His hand tips forward, miming a slope. It’s all downhill stability from here.
Jason drags a hand down his face. This is Gotham. His fingers spread outward, encompassing the entire cursed city. I wouldn’t be so sure.
Roy shrugs, easy. Optimism is free. A small tap to Jason’s chest follows. You should try it sometime.
Jason hesitates.
Then, almost as an afterthought. You say that now.
Roy stills.
He catches Jason’s sleeve before the other man can retreat into silence.
Jaybird?
Jason considers not answering. Roy can see it — the calculation flickering behind his eyes, the instinct to deflect.
Then Jason exhales. It’s probably nothing.
Roy’s eyes narrow.
His hands come up, slow and deliberate, spelling it out with pointed clarity.
J — A — S — O — N.
Jason shifts his weight, glancing toward the hallway like he’s hoping the nurse will come back and save him from finishing the conversation. The signs form slower this time, like he already regrets bringing it up. There’s this promoter.
His hands pause briefly before the name, fingers tightening just a fraction. Roman Sionis.
He signs it with the faint air of someone already tired of the man. He’s been trying to push the Foundation to redirect funding away from some of our community projects.
Jason’s mouth pulls thin. Claims they’re bad optics.
Roy frowns. That sounds shady. The sign curls low in the air between them.
Jason nods. It is.
His jaw tightens as the next words form. He’s been persistent. The sign repeats in a small, irritating circle. Dropping in when I’m at the Foundation. Subtle threats about board support.
He pauses, hands hovering. It’s starting to feel… personal.
Roy squints up at him, head tilting. Personal how?
Jason shrugs, but the motion is stiff, shoulders lifting without conviction.
Like he doesn’t just want the projects gone. His hand brushes outward, dismissing them.
Then he taps his own chest. Like he wants me gone.
Silence settles for half a second.
Then Roy beams.
Oh good. His hands spread with theatrical relief. A nemesis with a business degree. He flicks his fingers outward like he’s arranging items on a shelf. We’re diversifying.
Jason stares at him like he might actually smother him with one of the hospital pillows. I’m serious.
So am I. Roy’s grin softens as his hands lower. We’ll deal with it.
Jason freezes slightly at the we.
He watches Roy for a long moment, eyes narrowing as if recalibrating to this version of him — the one who doesn’t bolt the second things get complicated.
The one who stays.
Roy reaches up and squeezes Jason’s hand, confidence steady in the gesture.
He’s not looking for new problems — he had enough for an entire lifetime. But if joking about them reassures Jason that Roy isn’t going anywhere, then that’s worth more than the laugh.
Even if a small, pragmatic part of him quietly files the name Roman Sionis away for later.
He was planning to visit Bizarro and Artemis regularly anyway, now that they’re not working with Jason. They won’t mind keeping an eye out.
And Bruce certainly won’t object to a discreet heads-up about a potential business competitor showing unusual interest in his second son.
Purely precautionary.
You can take the man out of the military, but you can’t take the military out of the man.
Jason leans in closer as the orderly finally starts wheeling Roy toward the exit.
If something explodes in the next forty-eight hours, he signs, the motion sharp with warning, I’m blaming you.
Roy snorts. Noted.
Jason’s eyes narrow. I mean it.
Roy’s smile softens — just a fraction.
Jason seems so certain Roy will still be there in forty-eight hours.
Totally worth it.
Roy lifts a hand in a small, steady acknowledgment.
I know.
Find my other works on my Tumblr masterpost. If you like my work and want to support me, you can do it here.
Jason Todd x Roy Harper, no capes AU, +50k works, T, slow burn.
Roy Harper always knew that behind the Wonder Boy smile, Dick Grayson was as cunning and manipulative as they come. Especially when it came to family. So when Dick calls in a favor, and Roy ends up signing on as the ASL interpreter for his estranged brother, he has no idea what he’s really signing up for.
Jason Todd is brooding, arrogant, and scarred by more than just trauma: a walking disaster with a tongue sharp enough to draw blood. But Roy figures he can handle it. He’s seen worse. Done worse. Hell, standing half-naked in front of strangers doesn’t even crack his Top Ten Most Embarrassing Moments.
Dodging bullets in broad daylight, though? Yeah. That definitely wasn’t in the job description.
"Look, I’m sorry. This is just… new." Roy scrubs a hand through his hair. "I care about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you — is that really so hard to get?" His voice softens, hands signing gently now.
"I’m deaf, not stupid."
Roy is going to fucking strangle him at this rate. "That’s not what I meant and you damn well know it!"
Read from the start
The plush and lush kind, apparently.
After being granted a shower back at his hotel, Stephanie drags Roy to a fancy barber shop. He drops a handful of vague military allusions at the stylist while the man fusses over his long ginger hair. The guy huffs and puffs, but keeps his scissors where they belong. Roy counts it as a victory.
From there, Stephanie drives him to Gotham Museum and unceremoniously dumps him at the back entrance, announcing she’ll fetch his suit from the tailor and meet him inside — before he can get a word in edgewise.
Roy remembers what the grand hall looks like during high-end events. Chandeliers dripping gold light over polished marble, crimson silk draped from carved columns, tables dressed with flowers, priceless art reduced to background wallpaper.
Backstage tells a different story.
Dimly lit, cluttered with cables and half-empty crates, the narrow corridors smell like dust and burnt coffee. Roy perches on a wooden box, out of the way, and realizes he feels more at home here than he ever did in the spotlight of the main hall, forever out of place among glittering dresses and champagne flutes. Still, aimless waiting eats at him. After nearly half an hour he decides Stephanie’s abandoned him.
The people rushing past don’t help. Techs and waiters weave through the corridors like dancers, but none of them are familiar faces. At the end of his rope, Roy waylays the next server, ignoring the dismissive look he earns, and explains that he’s Jason Todd’s interpreter for the night. He manages to get the guest of honor location, and figures no scammer has ever tried that excuse before to get to one of the Wayne's.
Lucky him.
It takes a few more minutes of weaving through the chaos before he finally emerges behind a velvet-draped podium. The space crawls with ant-like people in a last-minute frenzy. That’s where he spots Dick, clad in a night blue suit, gesturing animatedly as he talks to someone else.
A huge someone else. Taller than Dick’s six feet, broader across the shoulders, radiating a stocky, don’t-fuck-with-me energy that’s only sharpened by the scowl aimed Roy’s way.
Roy slows, stopping just short of earshot. He grins at the way Dick’s hands fly everywhere — then realizes Dick is signing. Which would make Mister Tall, Dark, and Pissed-Off the infamous Jason?
In any case, the following introduction is not a rousing success.
Dick notices his brother’s death glare and turns, spotting Roy. His smile spreads wide, bright enough to power the chandeliers. "Roy! Good to see you, man!" he says, not bothering to sign. Without missing a beat, he places a firm hand on Jason’s lower back, nudging him forward.
Jason stiffens at the touch. When he doesn’t budge, Dick simply grabs his wrist and tugs him along like a sulking child.
Roy’s eyes flicker between them, awkwardness creeping in.
"This is Roy Harper," Dick says, grinning like he’s unveiling a prize. "Old friend of mine. He’ll be interpreting for you tonight. Isn’t that great?"
Jason doesn’t answer. His eyes narrow, fixed on Roy.
Hey, I’m Roy, Roy signs, hopping to connect with the man. Nice to meet you.
Jason’s expression only hardens. His gaze clings to Roy’s lips instead of his hands, his mouth flattening into a thin line that reads loud and clear: he knows why Roy’s here, and he doesn’t appreciate it.
Why does Roy suddenly feel like nobody bothered to tell Jason about the last-minute change?
Dick, either oblivious or determined not to notice, barrels on. "Don’t worry, Roy’s got you covered. He’ll make sure everything goes smoothly tonight."
Before Jason can answer, a clipboard-wielding woman interrupts. "Mr. Grayson, the caterers want to know if the dessert trays should be set up on the west or east side of the room."
Roy blinks. He was under the impression Jason was running this thing. Had Dick exaggerated to rope him in? Or was Jason really just here for the speech?
The look Jason shoots Dick, followed by a pointed tap on his arm to signal he’ll handle it, answers that question. Roy wasn’t mistaken. But the woman doesn’t even glance Jason’s way as Dick replies without hesitation. "West side."
Jason’s jaw tightens. His hands twitch. Roy doesn’t interfere — he isn’t here to play deafness etiquette police — but he still interprets the exchange, hoping Dick might get the message.
Dick does not get the message.
One after another, staff swarm Dick with questions — donor name cards, backdrop lighting, table placement. Every answer goes through him, not Jason. And the longer it goes on, the hotter the frustration burns off Jason. Roy can feel it, heavy as a furnace.
Finally, a waiter wanders up with a question so innocuous it almost feels like a setup. "Mr. Grayson, still or sparkling water for the stage?"
Roy stares. He’s pretty damn sure Jason’s the one taking that stage tonight. Jason, who’s standing right there, ignored.
Dick doesn't even glance at his brother. "Still," he answers easily.
Jason storms off, flipping them the finger without slowing down.
Dick doesn’t blink. "Don’t worry about him," he tells Roy, waving it off like Jason’s exit is another Tuesday for him. "Honestly, your presence is a blessing, Roy. Let’s just hope you can keep him from throwing a tantrum on stage."
Roy stares, speechless.
Jason’s reaction was rude, sure. But it didn’t look like a tantrum. It looked like someone hitting the boiling point after being repeatedly ignored.
And sure, it’s not Roy’s place to say anything. So he swallows the retort clawing at his throat and follows Dick. But the bitter taste lingers. If complicity had a taste, that’s how it would feel.
If you like my work and want to support me, you can do it here.
Jason Todd x Roy Harper, no capes AU, +50k works, T, slow burn.
Roy Harper always knew that behind the Wonder Boy smile, Dick Grayson was as cunning and manipulative as they come. Especially when it came to family. So when Dick calls in a favor, and Roy ends up signing on as the ASL interpreter for his estranged brother, he has no idea what he’s really signing up for.
Jason Todd is brooding, arrogant, and scarred by more than just trauma: a walking disaster with a tongue sharp enough to draw blood. But Roy figures he can handle it. He’s seen worse. Done worse. Hell, standing half-naked in front of strangers doesn’t even crack his Top Ten Most Embarrassing Moments.
Dodging bullets in broad daylight, though? Yeah. That definitely wasn’t in the job description.
"Look, I’m sorry. This is just… new." Roy scrubs a hand through his hair. "I care about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you — is that really so hard to get?" His voice softens, hands signing gently now.
"I’m deaf, not stupid."
Roy is going to fucking strangle him at this rate. "That’s not what I meant and you damn well know it!"
Read from the start
By the time Roy wrestles himself into the suit and bolts back into the hall, they’re already being herded toward the stage like unwilling cattle.
Jason hasn’t cooled down one bit. He stalks forward in silence, jaw tight, shoulders rigid, radiating enough fury to scorch anyone dumb enough to make eye contact. Not exactly the attitude Gotham’s elite expects from someone about to sweet-talk them into parting with five-figure donations.
Roy trails after him, muttering under his breath about catastrophic train wrecks and how this is absolutely going to end in disaster.
And yet — miracle of miracles — they make it.
One second, Roy is convinced he’s about to witness Jason blow up in front of Gotham’s richest assholes. The next, Jason is at the podium, shoulders squared against the spotlight, his whole presence shifting like someone flipped a switch. He still looks carved from stone, but suddenly? He’s playing the part.
It’s up to Roy, then.
The host introduces Jason with the kind of polished, oozing charm only decades of schmoozing can produce. And then—
Then it happens.
Jason starts signing. His movements are slow, deliberate, grounded. Roy’s mouth opens almost on autopilot, the words spilling out as though Jason’s thoughts are wired straight to his tongue. He’s used to kids fumbling through grammar, struggling to shape their emotions into sentences. This isn’t that. This is something else entirely.
Jason’s signing isn’t just fluent. It’s eloquent, each gesture sharp, each pause intentional. For a man who refuses to sign around hearing people, Jason’s command of ASL reveals a depth and thoughtfulness quite unexpected. Roy’s mind flashes back to stories Dick used to tell, tales of finding Jason buried books or passed out in the library at Wayne Manor, surrounded by stacks of dense literature. Roy flashes back to Dick’s stories of finding Jason buried books or passed out in the library at Wayne Manor.
It’s the most in sync Roy has felt with another person in… a long time. He shoves the thought aside, forcing himself to focus on the job. Distractions are something he absolutely does not need.
The applause that follows Jason’s speech is loud and sustained, a clear indicator of the crowd’s approval. Jason glances his way, a fleeting expression crossing his face – something between surprise and uncertainty.
Roy flicks his hands toward the sea of clapping donors, exaggerating the motion of applause so Jason can feel the weight of it. They loved it, he signs, adding a sharp make-sense gesture that carries both admiration and honesty. Then he leans in, hands slicing through the air with deliberate emphasis. Your speech — strong. Impressive.
Jason doesn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitches, fighting off a smirk.
Roy decides to call it a win.
The rest of the evening goes smoothly. Jason wades through the crowd, collecting flattery and promises of generous donations along the way. He also attracts his fair share of wandering hands and thinly veiled propositions for private meetings in side rooms of the museum — none of which surprises Roy.
It takes sheer force of will for Roy to bite back laughter when Jason freezes in stunned disbelief the first time someone gets too bold.
He discreetly flicks his fingers. Want me to send in a rescue party?
The corner of Jason’s mouth twitches, but he recovers fast, shutting Roy out with all the subtlety of a slammed door.
Roy doesn’t let him. He retaliates with a cheeky hand shape complimenting Jason’s impressive physique. Jason flushes crimson, and shoots him a look equal parts mortification and threat. Satisfied, Roy drops it. Teasing Jason is fun, but trying to juggle jokes and interpretation at the same time is enough to make his brain leak out of his ears.
Now that Jason’s made it clear he won’t tolerate being spoken over — or spoken for — Roy doesn’t hesitate long when high-strung socialites address him rather than Jason. He redirects every word back to the man at his side, never once stopping interpreting. Years of dealing with condescending rich folks have honed Roy’s ability to maintain a razor-sharp balance of politeness and pointed jabs. Apparently it’s like riding a bike: once learned, never forgotten.
Roy keeps an eye on Jason, but the half expected scolding never comes.
As the night drags on, though, Roy feels the weight of the day dragging him down. Jet lag gnaws at his edges. He stifles a yawn, then another, until he gives up.
Jason notices.
Halfway through yet another round of small talk, Jason cuts him a sharp glance and — finally, for the first time that night — signs at Roy. Go home. I’ll handle the rest.
For a second, Roy hesitates. Which is all the opening Jason needs to twist the knife. You’re sloppy. No use to me like this.
Roy narrows his eyes. Nice try, asshole. Does Jason really thinks that Roy didn't notice how his focus has shifted from lip reading to Roy's hands more and more over the course of the evening? Roy supposed sloppiness is nothing more than an excuse to get him to leave. But Roy knows how to pick his battles. And this one? Not worth the fight. Not when he’s only here as a favor to Dick.
Roy sighs, shoulders dropping. "Fine," he mutters, waiting for a break in the conversation before stepping back. He adds a last aside with his hands, deadpan. If anyone gets handsy again, kick them where it counts.
Jason’s answer is a barely audible snort. So, because Roy is a glutton for punishment, he pushes his luck. As he signs goodbye, he deliberately exaggerates the ‘J,’ then snaps his thumb and index finger like a squawking beak.
It takes Jason a second. His eyes narrow, recognition dawning, and then he’s glaring murder sharp enough to cut glass. "Choose between your trachea and the nickname, Roy. You can’t have both," he growls, his voice laced with menace.
Roy should back down. Really, he should. Instead, he leans into the thrill buzzing under his skin, exaggerating his lip movements so Jason won’t miss a syllable of the nickname. "Sure thing, Jaybird."
Jason’s glare could strip paint. Roy walks away grinning.
Dick’s nowhere to be found, so Roy heads for the next best Wayne — one of the younger ones, slouched against the wall, face lit by his phone. Tim, if Roy remembers right.
"Hey. Tim, right?"
Tim hums without looking up, which Roy takes as confirmation. "Look, I’m fried, and Jason told me to leave. Can you let Dick know when you see him?"
"Sure." Tim pockets his phone, studying him. "Guess it went well, then."
Roy snorts. "The speech? Yeah. But Jason? Pretty sure he hates me even more now than he did at the start of the night, which is saying something."
Tim’s mouth curls, sharp and knowing. "I saw what you called him."
Roy raises an eyebrow. "And?"
"If Jason really hated you," Tim says, voice deceptively mild, "you would have lost your throat the second time you said it. Public event or not."
Roy blinks, floored. The kid has to be joking. Right?
…Right?
Best not to dwell on it. He’s exhausted, his bones screaming for rest. Whatever mysteries Jason Todd comes wrapped in, they’ll stay mysteries. For tonight, at least.
Roy makes it back to his hotel room, crashes hard, and squeezes in a glorious four hours of sleep before his flight home. He’s fully ready to close this chapter, maybe send Dick the occasional text, and — if luck is on his side — never have to deal with Jason again.
But luck’s never been Roy Harper’s strong suit.
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Jason Todd x Roy Harper, no capes AU, +50k works, T, slow burn.
Roy Harper always knew that behind the Wonder Boy smile, Dick Grayson was as cunning and manipulative as they come. Especially when it came to family. So when Dick calls in a favor, and Roy ends up signing on as the ASL interpreter for his estranged brother, he has no idea what he’s really signing up for.J
ason Todd is brooding, arrogant, and scarred by more than just trauma: a walking disaster with a tongue sharp enough to draw blood. But Roy figures he can handle it. He’s seen worse. Done worse. Hell, standing half-naked in front of strangers doesn’t even crack his Top Ten Most Embarrassing Moments.
Dodging bullets in broad daylight, though? Yeah. That definitely wasn’t in the job description.
"Look, I’m sorry. This is just… new." Roy scrubs a hand through his hair. "I care about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you — is that really so hard to get?" His voice softens, hands signing gently now.
"I’m deaf, not stupid."
Roy is going to fucking strangle him at this rate. "That’s not what I meant and you damn well know it!"
Read from the start or on AO3
Jason still doesn’t argue when the police arrive to take their statements, nor during the ride back to the Manor after they’re released. He remains the very picture of composure, enduring Dick’s anxious exclamations and his father’s quiet worry all the way to his beloved library.
The moment the library’s heavy door closes behind Roy, though? Jason wheels around and turns into a goddamn fury.
"What the fuck was that, Harper!" He explodes, his expression thunderous. He slams a hand against the nearest desk — the carefully maintained calm he carried through the police interview and the tense ride home shattering like glass.
Roy doesn’t flinch. Not entirely, anyway. The outburst still grates on his already frayed nerves, and his mouth runs ahead of his better judgment. "That was me making sure you didn’t get yourself killed," he snaps back, voice sharp and hands moving with deliberate precision, every sign biting with spite.
"You had no right!" Jason’s voice cuts through the room, trembling with anger. "I’m not some piece of furniture you get to push around, Harper. Ever."
Roy exhales, reining in his temper. Losing it won’t help, and if this argument is going to end without someone throwing a punch, Jason needs to understand why he stepped in.
"It wasn’t about taking over your agency, Jason," Roy signs each word with care. His voice stays steady, but there’s a raw urgency underneath.
Jason needs to understand. Roy can’t quite name the reason, but that feels like the only thing that matters right now.
"It was about reacting to a goddamn emergency," he presses on. "You didn’t hear the shot. You didn’t see the danger. And you sure as hell weren’t listening to the people trying to help you."
Bitterness leaks into his voice despite his best efforts to hold it back.
Why is it so damn impossible for Jason fucking Todd to show a shred of gratitude — just once in his life?
Jason glares, chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths. "You think I don’t know that?" His voice is tight with anger. "You think I don’t know what people see when they look at me — poor deaf Jason Todd, someone who needs everything spelled out for him like he’s helpless?"
Roy steps closer, movements deliberate, hands signing with care as he tries to de-escalate. This is not about you being deaf.
Jason doesn’t let him finish. His palm slams against the desk hard enough to make the wood groan, cutting through Roy’s attempt at reason.
"Of course it’s about me being deaf!" He shouts, voice raw and jagged. "I hate it! I hate having to rely on someone else. But at the very least, I should get to choose when I do!"
Jason’s body is taut — a live wire ready to snap. Moments like this remind Roy just how massive he really is. Muscles packed onto a frame even broader than Roy’s. The way Jason stands, tension radiating like a storm about to break, triggers Roy’s fight-or-flight instinct on a primal level.
Roy doesn’t actually think Jason will swing, but the weight of that unspoken threat keeps him from going any closer to the other man. Still, something stubborn in his gut refuses to give ground. Jason could’ve died today.
Okay. Fight it is, then.
"It’s not about how you feel about your lack of hearing." Roy hands don’t shake, but it’s a near thing. "It was literally a life-or-death situation, Jason. Yours."
Jason recoils, his expression twisting into something that goes beyond anger. Something cracked open.
"You think I hate relying on people because I’m deaf?" His voice is too loud — the kind of loud that comes from not hearing yourself. Roy’s ears ring, frustration flaring under his skin. "It’s not. It’s because the last time I trusted someone, my own mother sold me out to a fucking psychopath!"
The words hit Roy like a physical blow. He stumbles back, air catching in his throat.
Jason’s breath catches, and for a moment, he looks ready to crumble under the weight of his own words. Then he pulls away from the desk and drops into the nearest armchair, head falling into his hands.
Roy swallows hard, throat tight. He hesitates a beat before following, lowering himself into the chair across from him. He doesn’t say anything.
He waits.
Jason doesn’t look up when he starts speaking. "When I was fifteen, I found out my birth mother was alive. I thought…"
He inhales sharply.
"I thought maybe I’d find some piece of myself in her. Some kind of connection. But she was…" His words falter, his hands trembling, and Roy has to fight every instinct not to reach out and steady them.
"She wasn’t what I thought," Jason goes on, voice rough from the earlier outburst. "She was deep in with a gang, and when I showed up, they saw a payday. They told her they could ransom me to Bruce." He lets out a hollow, bitter laugh. "And she agreed."
Roy’s stomach twists. Rage builds in his chest so fast it almost drowns him. A mother — how the hell could anyone do that to their kid?
Fuck restraint.
He leans forward and wraps his hands around Jason’s shaking ones, gentle but firm.
Jason startles, eyes snapping up. Before Roy can reassure him that he doesn’t have to keep going, Jason's gaze drifts somewhere far away, and he pulls his hands back.
Roy's heart hurt.
Then Jason starts signing.Slow, deliberate, each motion heavy, as if the words themselves are too heavy to speak aloud.
Joker— the gang’s leader— never planned to give me back, Jason signs, his hands trembling slightly but determined. Said he wanted to break me. But I didn’t. Break.
A flicker of pain crosses his face, but he pushes through it. He pushed. And pushed. Past anything I should have survive. Then left me for dead. That’s how—
Jason pauses. His index finger touches his cheek near his ear, then moves down to his mouth — deaf — like he's ashamed. It’s so fucked up Roy isn't touching it with a ten-foot pole. Not now.
The silence that follows feels too heavy to break.
But you survived. Roy signs, almost reverently. Because Jason was fifteen.
Jason lets out a hollow laugh. "Barely," he says aloud, signing the word alongside it. "I held onto my anger at Joker, at my mother for abandoning me — twice — at Bruce, even, for failing to protect me." He exhales sharply, shoulders curling inward. "I clung to it. The anger. And it saved me."
He pauses, then signs again, the motions rougher now. But it twisted me. His hands claw the air, then tap his temple — my mind — before flattening against his sides, eyes locked on Roy.
Person.
I’m twisted, he means.
Roy’s stomach churns.
Jason grips the edge of the chair like he’s holding himself together. "The thing is," he says, voice raw, "sometimes— sometimes the anger is all I can feel. It’s like this black hole inside me, pulling at everything else and destroying everything around me."
Roy doesn’t speak. What could he even say? He’s no stranger to burying pain under bad decisions, but this isn’t about him and his past.
Jason’s gaze flicks to him, fear buried under defiance. "You know why I hate Joker so much? It’s not just what he did. It’s what he is." His voice shakes. "He’s everything I could become if my anger went out of control. He’s what happens when you give up and let the worst parts of you take over."
Yeah. No way Roy’s letting that stand.
He leans back slightly, giving Jason space. "You’re not twisted, Jason." His voice stays low but firm. "You’re a survivor. Fighting means you haven’t given up. Being afraid of becoming like him means you’ll never be him."
His hands slow, gentling with the words. "Fighting your worst impulses isn’t about never falling. It’s about getting back up every damn time you do."
Jason looks up, skepticism flickering behind tired eyes.
Well. Sharing time it is, then.
Roy hesitates. Takes a deep breath.
Addict. Me.
Jason’s sharp intake of breath doesn’t surprise him. He’s heard it before. The spill of words that follow, the need for justification he can’t stop, however, it's new.
"I was young. Angry. Stupid. Looking for attention from a man who didn’t know how to give it. Got clean when it nearly killed me. But the impulses… they never really leave. What matters is how you deal with them."
Jason stays quiet.
Long enough for Roy to wonder if he said too much.
Then…
"It’s not just the anger. I feel—." A pause. "—ashamed. My family has to bend over backward because of me. It’s all my fault. Easier to be mad at them than deal with the guilt."
And, oh. All the little pieces Roy’s been picking at for weeks snap into place. Jason’s walls with his family. Every misstep, every frustration. Of course he would never admit he needed help. So, of course, his family would try — and mess up in the process.
It makes sense why Jason clings to lip-reading instead of signing, why the family follows his lead, why they don’t push. Jason’s trying to bend over backward, in his own messed up way. His guilt only feeding the anger more.
Roy leans forward. Serious, earnest. "Jaybird. What happened to you… that’s not your fault. That maniac? That’s on him. Your family? They don’t see you as a burden. They want to help because they love you. Don’t shut them out."
Jason huffs. A small, humorless laugh. "Speaking from experience?"
Roy considers it. The weight of Dick’s words presses down. Maybe he can help Jason with more than just interpreting.
Fuck you for always being right, Grayson.
He nods. "Yeah. When I left the military with a kid to raise, I didn’t want to ask for help. Thought I’d failed my family too many times. Turned out… they were just waiting for me to let them in."
Jason looks away, brow furrowed, chewing on it. Roy doesn’t push. Some steps Jason has to take himself.
And yeah. Roy speaks from experience.
He steps out of the library, lets the door swing shut behind him.
Suddenly, he feels washed.
The adrenaline crash is going to be brutal.
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