Do you see fear? Or is it just your own reflection?

Sacred Shores

Characters: AK!Jason Todd x OC - Lydia Spencer Word count: 3,000 Commission for @gomjabbars. Based on this absolutely beautiful and insanely cute fanart my talented friend Mikki made of Jason and my OC back in 2018. "You are a garden, entwined with all / you are the silence on sacred shores / you've got diamonds for teeth, my love" (x)

There is something to be said about the power of water. Its compelling nature; its undertow fierce and unrelenting. Much like Gotham. The city was plagued with a force as strong as any ocean’s tide, and if you weren’t careful, you’d get sucked in. Yanked away from safety and cast out into a seemingly endless void, lethal in its ability to tug you beneath its surface. Jason and Lydia had spent their entire lives feeling as if they were drowning, thrashing against its currents with as much fervor as its downward pull, unyielding in their efforts to fight the inevitable. Surrounded by those unable to keep their heads above water – those who drowned despite their best efforts to make it back to shore, too tired from their many failed attempts – they were determined to not meet the same fate.

It was when they met each other that they finally felt themselves come up for air. In each other, they found the safety they had been deprived of. They could still feel the pull of Gotham’s tides, but together, they were able to guide each other closer to the shoreline.

After they met at Gotham Academy, they would often sneak off campus together and take a bus into the city. They’d peruse shops without any intention of buying anything and would occasionally pester Bruce by visiting Wayne Tower. Though no matter how they chose to spend their time, these trips always ended at the same place – a particular bench on Founder’s Island, right on the water. There they would sit, looking out past the bulkhead, enjoying the shimmering lights of the buildings and traffic across the bay. There was something soothing about it. Despite the chaos of the city at their backs, they found themselves calmed by the stillness of the waters ahead and the deceitfully picturesque view of a place so abysmal.

They would sit there and talk for hours. They’d commiserate about school, they’d find comfort and understanding from stories about each other’s pasts, and they’d talk about the future. Their future. It was in this spot that they got to know each other; where, with each visit, they fell a little bit more in love. It was here that they felt less alone – where the grip Gotham held on them weakened just enough for them to catch their breath.

But as is typical of getting caught in a strong current, their reprieve was fleeting. Jason went missing, and Lydia once again felt herself fighting against Gotham’s tides with newfound conviction in the absence of anyone else to help her. As did Jason, for a while.

Alone, Lydia still found herself going to their spot. Every time she’d wish Jason was there with her. That she could see his smile, hear the confidence in his voice. Instead, she was only greeted with their favorite view, its scenery and the sound of the water that bridged the way between islands now taking on a new meaning in Jason’s absence. It was far more somber now, though somehow, still provided comfort. Whenever Lydia gazed upon the lights in the distance, she would think to herself how Jason had to be out there, somewhere.

Fortunately for her, he was. She received word that he was dead – murdered by the Joker after months of torture. She had seen the tapes – she demanded to – and the horror of what she had witnessed haunted her every step thereafter. Gotham’s grip was tight and dragged Jason somewhere far beyond her reach before pulling him under and swallowing him up entirely.

Though in an unexpected turn of events, it managed to let him wash back up. Battered and bruised by the vicious nature of the city’s relentless tidal flow, he came back different, deeply changed by his suffering. He saw himself as being unable to be fixed – damaged both inside and out in a way that made him question what was left for Lydia to love. There was so much to him to appreciate, and Lydia was often saddened by his inability to see that for himself.

It had been years since Jason’s abduction, years since they had gotten back together, though the impact that Joker’s torture had on him was inescapable. He was plagued with memories of what had been done to him. Unspeakable things that left his body littered with scars, each with their own respective memory attached to them. To Jason, they were a reminder – of everything he hated about that time in his life, and everything he hated about himself.

But to Lydia, he was like a piece of sea glass. Broken against his will, fragments displaced and lost to the infinite void that had torn them apart. His edges once jagged, cutting anyone who dared to touch him. For years he violently tumbled through the currents, completely adrift, though over time he softened. Despite it all, he had developed a new form. He was still broken, but he did not need to come back whole to be beautiful. His return in and of itself was miraculous, and that was something to cherish.

First Christmas

Characters: AK!Jason Todd x gn!reader Word count: 1,962 Commission for @kibblbread You weren't from Gotham and the city's harsh winters always had a way of making you sick at one point or another. Despite being under the weather and Jason's insistence that you rest, you are determined to decorate your apartment.

Christmas was in one week. Christmas was in one week and you had not decorated at all.

Everywhere you went, you were reminded of the impending holiday. The entire city was decorated – strands of garland and lights were strung from just about every building, wreaths were on every small business’ door. A wreath was all you had managed to break out from storage to place on the door to your apartment just before getting bogged down with a terrible head cold. Getting sick over the winter was nothing new. You weren’t from Gotham, naturally accustomed to much warmer weather, and the swift transition from the heat of summer to the harsh cold of fall nights and the unyielding frigid temperatures during the winter months was something that you hadn’t grown used to just yet. It just wouldn’t be winter if you didn’t find yourself bed-ridden for a week.

Though getting sick for Christmas was a first. You admittedly had slacked on putting up decorations while painstakingly attempting to maintain a relatively good work-life balance. In a place as fast-paced as Gotham, that was always easier said than done. Though, to be fair to yourself, you were not expecting to get hit with a cold so brutal at such an inconvenient time. You were not about to let your body’s poor defenses against the cool climate and Gotham’s coughing populace get in the way of your holiday. Not this year.

This Christmas was the first you and Jason would be spending together and you were determined to make it special for him. No amount of sniffling or body aches was going to take that away from you, or from him.

Word count: 1,169 Characters: AK!Jason Todd x GN!reader Jason overhears you crying and suspects that it's about him. He's right.

“Are you happy?”

You stood frozen, as if Jason’s words had the power to clutch your shoulders and hold you in place. As if they forced you to look him in the eye and reveal a hidden truth, however no such truth existed. You were happy — how could he possibly question that? You loved him; he knew that. 

Though sometimes love and happiness don’t always align so perfectly. People often make sacrifices for those they love, and in that realization, it quickly became apparent to you that, maybe, he was trying to gauge just how much you were willing to sacrifice for him. If you would put his happiness above your own. 

You let out an awkward laugh, unsure of how to answer such a loaded question. “What do you mean by that?” you asked, attempting to mask your discomfort by making light of it. 

Jason didn’t play along. He was leaning against the kitchen counter; shadows cast upon his face from the dim ceiling light which made him look all the more serious. His face revealed a sense of urgency, his eyes silently pleading for a quick response. “Just answer me. Are you?”

There was certain level of sternness to his gaze, but you could see in the way that his brows lifted ever so slightly that he was anticipating your response. He was scared, like he expected you to say no. 

You moved beside him, also taking a place along the counter’s edge. You crossed your arms, providing yourself with some comfort, and let out a small sigh. “Of course I am,” you told him. 

It was the only answer you could give him, the only one that was true, though he didn’t seem convinced. 

Jason scoffed, pushing himself away from the counter. He always found himself unable to stay still when he was agitated. “Yeah?” he questioned. He sounded accusatory. “Then why did I hear you crying in the bathroom earlier?”

Your eyes widened. He wasn’t supposed to hear that. 

Almost instinctively trying to spare him, a lie escaped you. “That wasn’t about—“ 

Jason shifted in place. He spoke your name, cutting you off before you could finish what you were going to say, and you fell silent. You knew you weren’t going to fool him anyway. 

He had left for a walk after you talked him through a flashback, and after a long shower in the hopes of clearing your head, something in you snapped. As you wrapped a towel around your body, you felt yourself crumbling — completely drained — and couldn’t help but cry as you stood before the bathroom sink. 

It wasn’t Jason’s fault; you were just burnt out. Life itself was a burden, and you never wanted him to feel like he added to it, though you would be lying if you said that his symptoms didn’t take an emotional toll on you. 

You religiously offered comfort when he needed it. You soothed him after nightmares, grounded him during flashbacks. You knew every clearly established boundary and dared to cross none. You embraced the complicated nature of his psyche because he offered you so much in return. In him you found safety, security, unrivaled loyalty. He loved you, deeply, and you only wanted to reciprocate that. 

But hearing him cry, seeing him in frantic fits of instinctive panic as he relived the horrors of his past; the thousand yard stares, the jolts in the night, the chronic pain — it all whittled away at you, because despite the comfort you offered him, it plagued him all the same. 

It wasn’t his fault, and that was the problem. 

“You’re straight with me about everything,” Jason said, tearing you away from your thoughts. “Why not this?” 

You uncrossed your arms and brushed a hand through your hair, letting out a sigh. You could feel your throat tighten as you replied, an unmistakable tremble in your voice. “Because I don’t want to make you feel bad,” you admitted. The words didn’t seem to be coming out right, but you pressed on. “It’s just— I feel bad, ya know? I hate seeing you so upset.”

Jason went quiet. His brows drew upward as his face softened, disclosing his sympathy. His body language exuded his love for you in his immediate desire to comfort you, but his conflict was made clear in his hesitation. It was as if he thought his touch would only make things worse, and that maintaining distance between you was the only solution to your problem. And therein lied the issue. 

He thought he was bad for you.

Gently, Jason nodded. “I know.” His voice was soft, defeated by none other than himself. 

You knew him well enough to go exactly where his mind took him — to a place where he received validation that his happiness would come at the cost of yours. You needed him to know that would never be true.

You took initiative and filled the space he kept between you, placing a hand on his cheek. Your thumb lovingly brushed over the ‘J’ seared into his skin — a reminder that you loved every part of him, even the parts he hated. “Jay, I’m happy, ok? Don’t worry.” 

He wasn’t entirely convinced by your words, only offering you a soft ‘yeah’ in response. 

“Don’t worry,” you repeated, a warm smile finding its way onto your face. You removed your hand from his face, crossing your arms again. You tried to reign your emotions in, keep things casual as not to escalate anything. “I just… don’t like crying in front of you about… you.” 

A shaky sigh left Jason’s lips and you were unsure if it was due to sadness or relief at your honesty. His expression read as something between shame and guilt, and the words that followed confirmed its truth. “You shouldn’t be with someone who makes you cry. Who burdens you like I do.” 

Your brow furrowed as you almost took offense to what he said. “You don’t burden me, first of all,” you retorted. “And second of all, you’re not making me cry on purpose, so don’t act like you’re hurting me, because you’re not.” 

He groaned at the conviction in your tone. You hoped that meant you were getting through to him, or at the very least, were making it clear that he couldn’t argue with you. Not about this. 

His lips drew downward and suddenly he moved back over towards the counter. He struggled to remain still even when he stood in place. “I just wish I wasn’t like this…” 

His voice was soft, a bit louder than a whisper, pitiful in the way it announced his confession. However, it was one you knew all too well. In a way, it was the same as yours. 

Prolonging the Inevitable

Wordcount: 1,512 Characters: Jason Todd x GN!reader What if Jason's approach on vigilantism altered your perception of him, to the point where you couldn't be with him anymore? You try to buy yourself time to figure out how to break up with him, but things get messy regardless.

“Did you expect me to try to look you straight in the eye / and drag you back down to Earth? / I watched you walk down a road I could not condone / And fell to my knees as it took you so far away” (x)

You had been avoiding Jason for what was close to a week. You weren’t ready to talk to him just yet. You didn’t know how to talk to him. Not after you found out the extent of his vigilantism. 

You hadn’t been together for that long, but with a few slips of his tongue during cheerfully tipsy post-date conversations, he gradually disclosed what he spent most of his evenings doing. He didn’t care much for concealing his identity around you, and you were appreciative of the trust you were privileged with. 

Though it didn’t take long for your perception of him to sour once you discovered exactly what he was doing. Despite your feelings on Gotham’s criminal underworld, you did not share his moral ambiguity. Dates with him became tainted, corrupted, by memories of news reports of his victims. Criminals or not, it was still murder. You began to resent him for not telling you everything, for selfishly concealing the truth in order to spare himself the pain of potentially losing you. That was your theory, at least. 

Above all else, you felt conflicted. How could you be so morally repulsed by his actions and still love him? Still want to lessen the blow of breaking up with him?

Jason wasn’t exactly fragile, though volatile might have been an accurate way to describe him. You knew what you needed to do, you just weren’t sure how. 

And so you waited. Shamefully, selfishly. Though you convinced yourself that it was a selfless act — you were sparing him of any unnecessary pain — but it would soon become clear that the pain was not only necessary, but inevitable. 

You tried not to pay any mind to the heaviness in your chest as you watched TV, anxiety looming in the back of your mind despite your best attempts to disregard it. You leaned over towards the end table beside the couch to grab your phone — 3 missed calls. You sighed guiltily, locking your phone before tossing it beside you. The show you were watching felt like dull background noise as you only half-watched it. Thoughts of Jason’s nightly escapades battled with memories of his kindness, his openness, the sense of safety he brought you — a war that tore you apart. 

You jolted upright as you heard a sudden knock at the door, the unexpected sound startling you. You hesitantly made your way over to the door and peered through the peep hole only to find Jason on the other side. Your heart leapt into your throat at the sight of him. 

He knocked on the door again before you could get a chance to contemplate what to do. Louder this time. “Come on, open up. I know you’re home,” he said sternly, aggravation clear in his tone. 

You opened the door, greeting Jason with a faint smile. He didn’t offer you the same courtesy. “Jason,” you said, hardly suppressing your surprise. “What are you doing here?” 

Jason remained stone faced as he glared at you. “Can I come in?” 

“Yeah, of course,” you said nervously as you stepped aside, shutting the door behind him as soon as he crossed through the doorway. 

“Is everything okay?” you asked, concern evident in your tone. Selfishly not for him, but for yourself. 

Jason was uninterested in playing along, barely moving past the entryway of your apartment. You were playing dumb, and he knew it. 

“I’ve noticed you avoiding me,” he said bluntly. His words came out harsh, sudden, but you could hear the hurt that laced them. “Why?” 

You hesitated. Only momentarily, to try and formulate your explanation in a way that wasn’t going to hurt him further, but his impatience grew almost instantaneously, demanding the explanation you had been unable to directly give him for days now. You knew you owed him one, but the words carried such a weight that they remained heavy at the back of your throat. 

“I mean, you’ve been dodging my calls, haven’t answered my texts,” Jason continued. “I haven’t even seen you in a week.” 

His brow furrowed, arms gesticulating at his sides in a way that matched the effort of how he spoke — as he tried to drag an explanation out from you, pulling the heavily weighted words closer to your lips. 

You tried to dance around the truth, just to buy yourself time. You inhaled, hesitance acting like a hand around your throat. “I needed space,” you finally confessed, revealing an unsatisfying half-truth. 

Jason’s brow furrowed further, a combination of confusion and what could easily pass as disgust evident on his face, just as your uncertainty was apparent on yours. He shook his head, clearly offended. “Then you could have just told me.”

“I know—“ you started, fumbling with what to say next. “I just—“ 

You could see the hurt in Jason’s eyes, in his body language. Guilt began to lessen the grip of your hesitation.

Before you could say more, Jason cut you off. “No.” His voice was firm, certain. “No, there’s more to this. Might as well just say it.” 

He remained still, almost stoic, as he intensely waited for your response. His silence coaxed it out of you — a sloppy, inarticulate confession. This wasn’t how you wanted it to go, but you knew he needed an answer. He deserved an answer, even if that meant hurting him further. For a split second, you thought, maybe it was better this way. Maybe you wanted him to hate you. Maybe, in the end, that was easier. 

“I don’t think I wanna do this anymore.” Your voice shook as the confession left your lips, and Jason’s face fell as its gravity hit him. 

“Do what?” 

“Us.” 

Jason fell silent, trying to make sense of that was just said. What was only seconds felt like a lifetime as tension built between you, and your stomach churned as you anticipated his response. 

Jason’s eyes left yours, flicking back and forth at the void between you before meeting your gaze again, his demeanor completely changed. All he could manage to say was “Why?” 

You sighed, awkwardly crossing your arms as a means of soothing yourself. “It’s just… it’s the—“ you looked over to the door you were still standing near and lowered your voice. “It’s the Red Hood stuff,” you explained, your voice nearly a whisper. “I see what you do on the news, Jason. I’ve heard the stories.” 

Jason’s body tensed as he took a step forward, not bothering to lower his voice as you did yours. “And what, you don’t think I’m doing the right thing? You scared of me now?” he asked defensively. 

None of this was easy for you. You didn’t want to let him go, but his conviction only further concerned you. You scowled at his words, the way seemed to be mocking you by asking if you were afraid of him, the stupidity of it. You shook your head slightly with thinly veiled indignation. “Should I be?” 

Jason let out a small laugh in mock entertainment, shifting in place. “Don’t trust me?” he scoffed. “Did all of this mean nothing to you?” 

His words stung. You thought it was cruel that he’d accuse you of not caring about him. But he walked down a path you would not follow him on. You couldn’t lay next to a killer.

You spoke through tears. “It did! But I can’t…” You took a few short inhales, unable to compose yourself. “I can’t be with someone who does… what you do. Try and understand that.” 

You couldn’t tell if he was so offended because you didn’t support his cause, or because he was distracting himself from the pain of losing you. It wasn’t easy for him to trust anyone, nevermind get close enough to anyone to start to fall in love. Love was not something he ever had an abundance of throughout his life, so when he had it, he wanted to latch onto it for as long as possible. 

Though now it was slipping through his fingers, and instead of attempting to tighten his grip, he clutched onto it momentarily only to throw it against the wall. 

"Oh, I understand alright." Jason’s lips drew downward into an outright scowl, his eyes piercing you with reserved anger. All you could say was that you were sorry — your voice small, defeated. 

Jason took another step forward. He was right in front of you now, only inches away, and spoke through gritted teeth. “I was stupid to fall in love with you.”

Despite the look on his face, you could hear his voice crack. And as he straightened himself up, the look was gone, quickly replaced with a look that disclosed his heartbreak. The distrust. The regret. A sadness you could not alleviate. A sadness that you were the cause of. 

Pairing: AK!Jason Todd x GN!reader Word count: 1,281 Based this one on something I wrote for Jason and my OC years ago. Jason comes home later than expected, drunk, guilty, and afraid.

“Where do I shelter when it’s raining inside? / No peace and quiet from the noise in my mind”

Jason was supposed to be home three hours ago.

You sat curled up on the bed, knees to your chest, almost obsessively checking your phone for any response from him. But every time you opened your messages, you were greeted with only your own — read, but never replied to. You clenched your jaw with anger and worry, the tension throughout your body making your muscles begin to ache. He, at the very least, could have given you a heads up. Where he was going, when he’d be back. He was off all morning, and you couldn’t help but think the worst.

You mulled over past conversations, finding evidence to support your argument — Jason would never hurt himself… right?

It was that hint of uncertainty that kept your phone tight in your grip, despite wanting to annoyedly toss it onto the bed and find a welcome distraction. You knew him better than anyone, or so you thought.

You knew him well enough to know when his thoughts were being cruel to him, and today had been one of those days. You could see it in his eyes, and in the way he could hardly hold a conversation with you over breakfast before you both went to your respective jobs. He tried his best to stay present, but his mind kept pulling him elsewhere.

You glanced over at the door in anticipation; your apartment building’s shitty insulation had never been beneficial until now. You and Jason shared a small studio apartment — it was humbling, to say the least. Though despite its many problems, it was a home you made together, and that provided you with enough contentment until you could find something better.

You tuned into every set of footsteps you heard coming up the hallway, but every time they walked right past your door.

What felt like ages passed before you finally heard a set of footsteps stop at your apartment, followed by the sound of keys sloppily fumbling with the lock. You held your breath nervously, almost certain it was another tenant drunkenly mistaking your apartment for theirs. You didn’t need the additional stress of them banging on your door or potentially causing a scene and hoped they would give up their attempt soon.

Shock overtook you as the door finally swung open to reveal Jason’s broad form swaying in the doorway. Your brows furrowed as you took a good look at him, quickly deducing that he was wasted. The uncharacteristic nature of that was as confusing as it was worrisome, both of which fueling your aggravation with the situation entirely.

You couldn’t help but raise your voice. “Jason, where the hell were you?!”

Jason blinked a few times, clearly caught off guard by the sudden sound of your voice piercing through the awkward silence that fell between you for the few moments prior. He stumbled in past the doorframe and shut the door behind himself. He dismissively waved his hand at you as he said a quick ‘I’m sorry,’ looking at you only briefly.

The lack of an answer made your blood boil.

He shed himself of his boots and his jacket before sitting on the edge of the bed. He hunched forward, elbows resting atop his thighs as he placed his head in his hands, as if you weren’t even there. As if he were intentionally trying not to acknowledge you.

“Jason.” You spoke his name sternly, frustration clear in your tone. You wanted, needed, some kind of answer.

You crawled across the bed to sit beside him when he didn’t respond, wanting to yell until you got a good look at his face. His flushed cheeks glistened in the dim lighting of the room due to the streaks of tears that lined them; his eyes completely listless as he blankly stared down at the floor. You had never seen him look so fragile. Not like this. Not drunk.

He felt the intensity of your eyes on him and continued to look down at the floor as he spoke. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, words slurred. You could hear the sincerity in his tone, clearly indicating his guilt. “I didn’t know what to say.”

Your voice softened as you cautiously placed a hand on his back, just barely touching him until you were sure he was comfortable with it. “Babe—“ You looked him over again, still baffled by his demeanor. “What happened?”

Jason let out an unsteady sigh and lifted his head. The way he looked at you was enough for you to take pity on him. In that moment, all was forgiven. His glassy eyes projected a look of defeat in a way that you had never seen before. He looked tired, he looked guilty, and he looked scared.

He wasn’t one to run from that which scared him, but there’s a first for everything.

“I kept hearing him,” he confessed, voice shaking. “I had to make him stop.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. You knew who he meant.

He had mentioned hearing the Joker in the past, on seldom occasions where he would hear him laughing when he encountered something that reminded him of the depravity he was subjected to. He felt like he was being mocked. This felt different. There was a level of fear that laced his words that you had only ever heard just after he had a flashback, still haunted by what he had heard.

Your heart sank. You spoke his name again — gently, with sympathy — and pulled him close with the comforting affirmation that it was okay now.

You were upset that he didn’t tell you, but you didn’t know the extent of what he was hearing. All you knew was that it shook him so profoundly that numbing himself was the only logical means of escape. To drink until he drowned out the sound of the Joker’s cruelty. So you sat there with him in your arms, not daring to ask what horrors echoed through his mind.

“You’re okay,” you told him. “You’re safe.”

The relief that accompanied your touch caused Jason to completely break down, audibly crying against your shoulder as his emotions poured out freely. You were glad that you could provide him with a safe space to do so, though your chest tightened at the sound of his cries.

The true conversation of what happened would wait. You had this itch to pick it all apart — to make sense of it, for his sake — though despite your desperate need to do so together with the means of helping, you knew that, in this moment, he just needed you to be present with him. He needed a voice other than his own, other than the Joker’s. One that was softer, kinder. 

You eventually both laid back on the bed; Jason's head rested on your chest as you combed your fingers through his hair. A combination of the accumulation of stress from throughout the day and alcohol left him exhausted, his eyes heavy as you soothed him. 

As some semblance of calm returned to his mind, your thoughts now raced. Jason had made so much progress in coming to you when his trauma became more than he could bear. He’d gotten particularly good at no longer trying to fight his feelings when he felt like they were going to swallow him whole. He’d finally come to accept that sometimes it was okay to ask for help. To seek the sanctuary you provided him.

Wounds

Commission for @self-deprecating-possum

Wordcount: 3,370 words Pairing: AK!Jason Todd x GN!reader Warnings: Physical assault, kidnapping

You were once abducted by the Scarecrow. Now you found yourself at the hands of another one of Gotham's criminals.

No matter what you did, you couldn’t forget that night. The night Scarecrow abducted you. 

Even though you were desperate to forget it, your brain latched onto it in a cruel act of self-preservation. Crystalline memories haunted you, seared into your mind, encroaching on your everyday life. Every time your mind wandered, there they were, taking hold of you and dragging you backwards. Back into the dark, kicking and screaming. So desperately did you want to forget — you would have given anything — but your mind was never so forgiving. 

You remembered the way he sent someone else to do the abduction. Some lowlife lackey who most-likely chose you at random out of the handful of strangers on the subway car heading for Miagani Island. The man who followed you off the subway at your stop, which led to you hearing a second set of footsteps just behind yours as you made your way down the desolate tunnel. 

You remembered way you picked up your pace gradually, not wanting to look paranoid at first, and how the speed of the man behind you changed to match yours. The way that by the time you had begun near-sprinting for the stairs leading up to the street — the unforeseen sanctuary of Gotham’s lit streets only steps away — it was too late. You remembered the man grabbing your hair, tugging you backwards with such force that the pain made you breathless, before an arm curled around your torso. Then a cloth pressed up against your face. Then blackness.

It was the middle of the night; you should have known better. At least that was what you kept telling yourself. 

You remembered waking up in what appeared to be a warehouse, though there was nothing identifiable to determine exactly where in the city you were. If you were even in the city. Though with how dilapidated the place was, you had a pretty good hunch that you still were. 

You remembered how you weren’t alone. Several others were there with you, regaining consciousness at different times, all tied to chairs just like you were. You awoke to the sound of their mumbling. Whimpering. Muffled cries of fear from gagged mouths. None of you could say a word to each other. None of you could provide each other any comfort, ease the agonizing anticipation of whatever was to happen to you. Not a single one of you knew why you were there, but you were certain that everyone else was thinking the same thing you were — why me?

You remembered the way your heart pounded in your chest with such intensity that it stung, feeling each beat radiate up your throat. You could hear it in your ears, as if your body was trying to tune-out the sound of all that surrounded you. 

And you remembered Scarecrow. You never paid much mind to the whereabouts of any of the city’s most notorious criminals. There were too many to keep track of, and you weren’t one to live your life in fear of them. The irony of that made you sick. 

You had heard that he was left horribly disfigured after an encounter with Killer Croc, whispers amongst fellow Gothamites about him having his face reconstructed to look intentionally grotesque. Seeing him in-person not only confirmed the rumors, but made you realize that they were an understatement. You had seen him referred to as the self-proclaimed “Master of Fear” on news ticker tapes; even without his use of nightmare-inducing hallucinogens, his face alone fit the bill. 

It was only after he began speaking, circling each of his victims like a hawk targeting its prey, that you noticed the IV hooked up to your arm. 

He explained that you were all to be his test subjects. How this was one of his first trials for his new fear toxin. How the last group of test subjects didn’t live long after being injected, but that he hoped this refined formula yielded better results. His voice shook you to your core. It was calm, calculating. That made it worse. 

One by one, he lurched over to each abductee, connecting bags of orange solution to each of their IVs, and one by one they fell victim to its effects. Their muffled screams fueled your fear, panicked cries escaped you as you prayed for someone to save you. 

And just as Scarecrow had given you your dose, someone did. Batman and Robin, just a second too late — they were the last thing you remembered. You expected fear to wash over you, but instead, everything went blank. 

You had spent months comatose in the hospital. You were told that you should consider yourself lucky. The toxin had been flushed from your system and you were spared from the fate of the others Scarecrow had injected. Had Batman and Robin arrived any later, you would have died like everyone else. You wished you could feel as lucky as you were.

The physical recovery process was nothing compared to the mental one — an ongoing battle that you still found yourself fighting. It got easier to live with the trauma over time, but the wounds were still there. Healing slowly, your mind’s remembrance of that night often tearing at the scabs and drawing flesh blood, causing the process to start over. 

It took what felt like ages to find someone who understood — truly understood — what it felt like to live that way. To have to piece yourself back together, picking up fragments of yourself as you navigated the world with newfound apprehension. 

How funny it was to find someone who had suffered at the hands of one of Gotham’s criminals like you did. One would think it would be a common enough occurrence in a place like Gotham, but with a population of 6.3 million people, it was easy to feel alone. 

Jason’s wounds were deeper than yours, tortured by the Joker for over a year in an abandoned wing of Arkham Asylum. You couldn’t even imagine what that must have been like. The fear he felt. The pain. The hopelessness. It was when you met him that you finally did consider yourself lucky. His body told his story, a branded ‘J’ under his left eye announcing a troubled past to everyone he met. You knew that he, too, was unable to forget. How could he?

It was because of his own past that he was so gentle with you, and you always returned the favor. Every flashback, every intrusive thought, every anxiety attack — you were there for each other. He knew how to navigate your trauma in a way that nobody else could. He knew what boundaries to never cross, what soothed you. Despite the way he carried himself, with unwavering brashness, he was always so soft in your presence. 

Every time your wounds were torn back open, he was there to aid in the healing. Sturdier than any suture, he held you together.