“IN EVERY UNIVERSE.”
in which, JASON TODD from THE DCU reunites with much more than an old friend. ‧₊˚✩彡 includes: jason todd x high-schoolsweetheart!reader, fem!reader, angst -> hurt / comfort, kissing, brief making-out, ex-boyfriend!jason, reader struggles with grief, 3.5k words. ‧₊˚✩彡 based on this request ; part 1.5 - "AS IT WAS,” ; part 2 tbp
YOUR APARTMENT was cold. just like how you had always kept it after jason died. cold to chill your bones, cold to shock your system, and cold to give you a reason to wake up every morning because without jason peter todd in your life, getting out from underneath the safety of your sheets had been fucking hard.
you were worried you'd acclimatize, get used to the frost nipping at your fingertips and elbows and nose every morning-- but you never did. because how could you get used to the gaping loss your lover, your soulmate, your everything, had brought with his death?
jason had been a breath of fresh air; like you were seeing colours for the first time in a world that had been previously all white and black. he had been quiet, sure, but never broody-- kind to a level in which you had a hard time fathoming, comfortable with you the same way you're comfortable with your own shadow, and easy; loving jason todd had been the easiest thing to do-- just like losing him was the hardest.
you had only been sixteen when he died.
(he had only been sixteen when he died.)
you'd known him for three years, watching him curiously until a familiar nervousness coiled in your stomach around him, your cheeks flushed when he smiled timidly at you, and you giggled innocently when he recommended literature for you and him to read together.
( "personally, i like margaret atwood," he had nodded, scratching shyly at his neck. "and while the handmaid's tale is good-- i'd tell you to read alias grace first. it's a whole experience... you'd enjoy it." jason had been so beyond his years-- interested in classic novels and literature like it was his oxygen. he was a nerd, by all traditional standards. and it had you infatuated. )
minutes blurred into hours with jason, and when his father had caught you both kissing for the first time in his sizeable library, he hadn't been surprised.
( "mr. wayne, i'm so--" you had started, feeling your face heat up at an impeccable speed. jason sat beside you, grinning like he had won the lottery; speechless and ecstatic. bruce had glanced between the two of you, his face blank, before slowly backing away and closing the library door behind him. jason's freckled cheeks tinted a deeper pink, his hand coming up to cup your jaw;
"see? old man didn't say anything-- it means he likes you."
oh how happy you had been. jason's father liked you! )
nobody had been surprised when you became a regular at the wayne mansion; often times, being greeted by his sibling like you were apart of the family. there had been no question about your future with the youngest master in the mansion; your days ahead as a wayne looking bright.
( "jaybird told me he's gonna marry you," his older brother had told you one night-- jason had gone to the bathroom, leaving you and dick alone in the living room together, movie on the large television paused. "obviously not now, but soon." dick had tossed kernels of popcorn into his mouth with a practiced ease. you flushed, stomach swirling wildly at the thought of getting married to jason. "i told him i'd sucker punch him if he didn't." )
the night you learned jason had died replays over and over and over again in your mind, like some sick film stuck on repeat. every time you're left in silence, you hear the scream you had let out-- throat left fatally raw. every time you dream, you see his casket being lowered into the ground. every time you stare at your reflection in the mirror, the same words flash in front of your face:
jason peter todd. forever sixteen.
grief had been a terrible thing-- swallowing your life up whole, consuming every fibre of your being, and resting heavily on your shoulders like a suffocating fog infecting your lungs and making it impossible to breathe.
the last you had heard from the waynes had been a package in the mail; arriving to your parent's front doorstep, exactly two months after jason's funeral. neatly wrapped, your name written delicately on a gift tag attached to a red ribbon that encased the entire package.
your hands were shaking when you had opened it; like somehow, you knew this was their version of closure-- this was them saying good-bye.
there was a small note resting on the gift itself, addressing you:
this was in jason's school bag; its annotated, cover to cover. we all figured you'd enjoy getting to pick at his brain one last time. you're a sweet girl, and jason would never let us forget it. happy seventeenth birthday.
all the best,
the waynes.
below the note was jason's copy of alias grace.
four and a half years years later, it still remains unopened; like jason's ghost would appear should you even dare to flick through the pages.
so your apartment is cold; not just cold, freezing. because moving on, getting over it, and growing up was hard. especially knowing jason would never get the chance, forever trapped in a mindless pit of death and grief and being forever sixteen.
✰
you cannot believe your eyes. surely, this had to be some horrid joke someone was playing on you-- maybe you had even been unknowingly exposed to fear toxin; you cursed mentally, because shit. you can't remember the last time you checked the news.
jason's voice is a shock to your system, your name leaving his mouth sounding like a foreign language. jason's entire being is a shock to your system-- standing in your doorway, holding a large bouquet of your favorite flowers, looking simply bashful.
"uh," he starts, scratching at his jaw. the sound of his fingers connecting to slight stubble echoes within your apartment's corridor. "hello."
...
"what the fuck."
you don't mean to be so crude, but... what the fuck! your dead boyfriend is standing right in front of you, very much alive. instead, he's grown-- wiser, older, bigger. his chest and shoulders are broad, barely contained by the sweatshirt he's adorning; his cheeks are still freckled to the moon and back, but mean looking scars litter his face; the most noticeable one being a 'J' along his left cheek.
you remember his eyes being blue-- a soft, loving, knowing blue. like the ocean, or maybe even the sky on the sunniest of spring days. they blink back at you now almost an un-natural shade of green, and you swear they're flickering.
jason swallows, nodding his head slowly. he extends two arms gently, as if to soothe you like you're some sort of wild animal. which, in his defense, is what you feel like; probably what you look like too, considering your hair is mussed from sleep and you've dragged your hands down your face a solid thirty-six times since you've opened the door. "it's okay, i- i know you're probably really confused,"
"confused?" you exasperate, eyes widening maddeningly. "i'm--"
scared. insane. hurt. sick. grieving.
you shake your head, unbelieving of the sight in front of you. "you're supposed to be dead."
jason's shoulders fall ever so slightly. "well. i was, and now i'm not." he offers slowly. it comes out harsher than he intended, and he cringes inwardly at his tone.
"you're supposed to be dead." you repeat. your chest, you think, has not felt this tight since you were told jason had died. your mouth is parted, air beginning to enter and exit you at a quickeningly alarming rate. your throat is so tight-- you cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot see-- all you feel is your chest heaving, throat closing, and hands trembling. your eyes are watering too; you can feel them begin to shed salty tears, fat droplets rolling down your cheeks.
is this what shock is like? i think i'm going into shock, you think vaguely, hand bracing the frame of your apartment's front door. it's too hot, is another thing that floats into the edges of your mind; which is ironic, given the thermostat in your apartment's entryway reads nineteen point five degrees celcius. "fuck." you manage to mutter, still hyperventilating.
jason moves. like its habit, like its practiced, like its muscle memory-- he moves. swiping you up into his arms from underneath your knees, he cradles you to his chest. his grip on the flowers tighten, as well as your body, as he manages to shut your apartment's door behind him. his eyes scan the floor-- quickly, he places you down on one of your couches, kneeling in front of you.
"hey," he starts softly, and the way he says your name is so tender, you think if you hadn't already been crying, that would have sent you over the edge. "it's just me. which, okay, i know is a lot for you to take in-- but it's just me, jason. your jason." his hands find yours, and his thumbs begin to stroke the back of your palm comfortingly. "you don't need to be upset, baby," the petname falls from his lips like muscle memory, and his heart clenches. "i'm sorry i left you for so long; i promise i won't do it again, my poor girl," he whispers, squeezing your hands tightly. "but i'm back now, and everything s'gonna be alright, okay?"
you nod, unable to form any coherent words. tears continue to fall from your eyes, dampening your face further-- it isn't shock, though, that drives your emotions high anymore. through your upset, your palms find his cheeks, grasping gently onto this boy who you truly believed you would never see again.
it is relief.
✰
if you didn't believe jason could rip your heart to shreds any further, you would be a sorely mistaken woman.
he explains, about half an hour later, everything. his mother, the joker, the explosion, dying, being resurrected, the pit, the league. all of it.
it wrenches something deep within your gut, and you truly cannot fathom how he's just talking about all of this while cutting the stems of your flowers and gently placing them in a vase.
"so," he sighs, snipping a stalk, watching the end fall carelessly into the trash bin beneath him, "then i moved back in with bruce. which, i didn't want to at the time, but i think it's been good for my whole..."
"coming back to life thing?" you offer.
"yeah," he replies, the corner of his mouth snaking upwards the smallest bit. "that."
there's a silence that envelops your apartment afterwards. jason keeps moving methodically, apparently quite captivated in the act of prepping flowers for your kitchen table.
"why did you come back?" you ask suddenly. so suddenly, it even catches yourself off guard-- like it had been an intrusive thought that was more of an intrusive comment. "back to me." you clarify.
jason stills. "because," he says after a few moments, "don't you want to see me?"
"i do," you answer easily, ignoring how selfish the question inherently is in nature. "but if you're just here to--" you gesture vaguely to the plants within his hands. "do that, then maybe..."
you shouldn't have come.
you don't say it, your voice trailing off-- but its clear the implication hangs in the air like dead weight.
jason sets both a flower and the plant cutter down, bracing both of his arms onto the edge of your counter. "are you seeing someone?" he asks abruptly. his face has hardened, going colder. again-- you swear his eyes are flickering.
"what?" you question, face contorting into confusion. "no-- i-- shit," you swallow, chuckling quietly. you're laughing because even the thought of a date with someone else makes you nauseous. "i haven't even been out once like that since... well, you." the confession makes your cheeks burn, and you feel some form of embarrassment wash over you like cold water.
jason's face softens, and he glances downwards towards his feet. "oh." he says quietly.
"yeah." your fingers drum anxiously against the fabric of your couch.
silence overtakes your apartment again; though its charged this time, with something else-- something you haven't felt in a long time.
it takes jason only a few steps to cross your entire apartment, before he's sat beside you on the couch. there's barely an inch of space between both of you, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body; it calls to you, and your fingers twitch.
"i came back to see you because i'm in love with you." he says carefully.
if you didn't know jason todd, you'd assume he said it in a detached sort of way-- but you do know jason todd (or at least once you had known jason todd) so you read him easily; he's nervous.
"seeing all of my shit from... before, in my old room, it just..." he pauses. "there was a lot of stuff i had that was for you."
his admission makes your throat tight again.
"pictures of you, poems from you, some of your books--" the tips of his ears go a romantic shade of pink, "i even found a bottle of your old perfume that i used to spray on my pillow."
"oh, jay," you taunt, (as if things are normal, as if he wasn't dead, as if he's never been gone), bringing a hand up to your mouth to conceal your giggle.
jason turns to face you, as if he's trying to figure something out; trying to decipher something in your chuckle. his solemn expression immediately quiets your laughter, and you whisper: "oh, shit, m'sorry-- i shouldn't have laughed--"
"can i kiss you?" he cuts you off. his eyes flicker from your own to your lips, and your tongue darts out subconsciously to wet them. he mirrors you.
there is something within you that twists, so deeply, so fully, it almost makes you topple over. as you're staring at jason, the question lingering in the air, suddenly-- he doesn't look so different than from before. he looks shy, he looks timid, he looks youthful; his hair resembles the way it did, all those years ago in the back of bruce's library. his eyes-- despite the colour difference-- are soft, warm, familiar. the longer you stare, the less you see the scars that paint his cheeks, and the more you see the same freckles you used to count naively, knowing there would be no end.
all those years ago, you believed there would have been no end. you and jason would be as permanent as the stars in the sky, bound to each other in every life time and every universe.
and then there had been an end. and you had never been so lost before.
now, there's a beginning. so you tell jason:
"yes," it's breathless, and whispered so quietly, he has to lean forward to hear you like you're telling him a secret. "please kiss me."
your lips meet almost apprehensively, slotting against one another like puzzle pieces. it's sweet and its slow, your hand inching its way towards jason's thigh-- as if he'll shatter should you touch him. it's him who pulls away first, his eyes half-closed as he glances down at your now saliva-soaked lips, before they flit upwards to meet yours.
jason smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling gently.
your eyes water, and you see him falter. before he can speak-- you beat him to it, shaking both your head and hands. "m'okay," you say, though its not very convincing.
jason whispers your name skeptically, raising one of his eyebrows.
"sorry, i just--" you sniffle. "i just can't believe you're here. you're back. and sitting in front of me, with your heart beating and your lungs working and--" you need to cut yourself off, so you inhale.
"let me kiss you again," jason says, reaching a hand out to cup your jaw. his thumb swipes against your cheek, catching a stray tear. "please."
so you do. its far less timid this time, like everything is coming back to the both of you. jason's second hand reaches to gently grab the nape of your neck, pushing your face into his, deepening the kiss.
you're no less enthusiastic-- arms immediately going to rest around his own neck, your head tilting to the side, craving him deeper. all at once, it feels like you have to make up for lost time.
every minute your hands could've been intertwined with his, you laid grieving, so many people having stolen that reality from the both of you. your tongue darts out, swiping against jason's bottom lip, and you feel his movements stutter before he opens his mouth wider. every night you could have been enraptured within jason; he was out there-- cold, afraid, and alone.
you're fumbling clumsily to get into jason's lap, pressing your hands to his chest-- forcing him to lay back in the couch-- while you both still remain connected at the mouths. he obeys easily, and you swear you hear him whine when you begin to suck on his tongue.
"jay," you sigh softly, breaking the kiss; a string of spit keeps you both linked.
jason keeps his palms glued to your jaw like you're his life-line; dipping his head low, he begins to press chaste kisses to your neck. he breathes your name out-- like its serious, heavy, means something to him-- and his voice cause your skin to prickle against the vibrations.
"i don't think you understand," a kiss lands beneath your ear. "how much i've missed you." another kiss to your cheek. "every day, every night-- didn't matter where i was; i thought of you," he guides your head to turn, giving him access to the other side of your throat. "i don't remember much from the night i died," he confesses, lips cemented to your skin. "but i remember-- your face, it had been one of the last things i thought of."
jason peels himself from your body like it physically pains him, and when you look-- really look-- at him, you see his eyes are foggy. "and you're the first thing i thought of when i came back too."
you're silent. for what seems to be ages, you cannot find the words to articulate how you're feeling. your brain wracks for the right things to say, the right thing to do with your hands, or maybe even the right thing to do with your lips.
"jason." your mouth trembles, and god, you are so sick of crying tonight.
but you can't stop it; can't stop how deeply you feel for him, can't stop how badly you've needed him since he's been gone, and you can't help how much you wish he hadn't left-- no, been taken from you-- in the first place.
"i know i'm selfish." jason speaks, running a hand through his dark hair. "for coming here, ambushing you-- and expecting you to take me back like nothing's wrong," he really can't keep his hands still, can he? "but i was so sick of being apart from you, i couldn't-- fuck, i couldn't bare to not see your face, not hear your voice, not be with you for any longer."
jason doesn't know where all these words are coming from; they're flying out from his mouth unfiltered and raw, and he thinks hazily that they're cutting and jabbing and hurting you-- just like he's hurt everyone else.
but he's not hurting you-- jason peter todd is the last man on earth who could hurt you. through your tears, you take hold of his hands, finally giving them something to be still within.
"we should stop," you say, looking intensely into his beautiful green eyes. "not because i want to-- but because i think,"
you swallow. what do you think?
you think that you're overwhelmed, in shock, perhaps even hallucinating-- but mostly that you're in love.
you think that your soulmate has come back from the dead and fuck, not everyone gets the chance to start over-- so you want to do it right. when you're not overwhelmed, in shock, and certain you're not hallucinating.
you think you want to tell jason that you're in love with him too; but that truth is scary when love is a permanent thing meant for very temporary people.
"i think we should go out."
"on... a date?" jason questions, as if there was any other way you meant it. as if he cannot believe you're proposing such a thing.
"no. to the moon." you roll your eyes, swiping at them with the heels of your palms. "yes, on a date."
jason's quiet for a few moments, and you can practically see the cogs turning within his head. then he smiles-- a gentle, kind, bashful smile-- and whispers: "alright."
he can barely hesitate, reverence so clear in his voice it almost makes you sick, before adding on: "and if you wanted to go to the moon, i'd figure out how to get you there."
your face crumples, and you reach a hand out to smack jason's arm. "that's really fuckin' cheesy,"
jason shrugs-- not bothering to pretend like your jab had any effect on him. "s'true."
the air conditioner turns on-- the noisy rumble from deep inside your apartment walls whirling to life. the routine of it doesn't shock you; you've become far too accustomed to the deep ache of needing to feel something, resorting to a cold that'll seep into your bones and take ages to defrost.
goosebumps raise along your arms. for the first time in four and a half years, you finally feel cold.
PLUVOiA '25 ® - masterlist
loren's thots: i am in love w this req. in love. except im at the point where if i stare at this post for any longer, ill delete it all lmfao... also jason todd reading alias grace is so important to me bc A. its fantastic i liked it way more than the handmaids tale go read it if u have time and B. its got central themes of the mistreatment women have faced over time and how overlooked we've always been in terms of the justice system, our health, and within relationships w/ all types of diff men. and ofc!! our little feminist jason todd would be reading that!!!! like hello!! and im not even js saying that theres like,,, vids abt jason's character and how he was made to be more 'feminine' so the target audience [men] of dc would grow to dislike him. sigh hes so important to me. oh also i was totally picturing jason from ak when writing this hes so. yum. (reqs are open!!)
