Dilf! Jason Todd x Alzheimers! Reader
𖹭 synopsis: After being diagnosed with early stage Alzheimers, Jason watches as you slowly fade away in front of his eyes
𖹭 tags: Husband! Jason, wife! reader, major character death!!, Jason Todd is a good husband,. angst, self blaming! Jason, scared! reader, medical inaccuracies, grammar problems, not proofread, no happy ending, Part One Here.
A/N: Okay part two of my last fic, I think you guys liked it thankfully! You guys are so nice </3 Anyways, umm you die so sorry, I think that's my only warning to this?
"Shower?" you asked, tilting your head as if it were an unfamiliar concept.
He suppressed a laugh, really, he tried, as he glanced down at you perched on the edge of the bed. You looked absolutely stunning. The soft morning light filtering through the orange curtains you had picked lit up the room with a cozy, warm glow, akin to your presence.
"Yes, sweetheart, shower," he said, taking a step closer.
He noticed a sudden flush creeping up your cheeks, and it made his lips curl into a smile. It felt nice to know he still had the power to make you blush, even after everything.
"You usually shower in the morning," he offered gently, though your wide eyes suggested you weren’t entirely on board with the idea. He let out a playful sigh. "You really don’t believe me, do you, darling?" A simple shake of your head was his answer, and he pursed his lips. "Well... looks like we have a bit of a situation here, don’t we?" With that, you were no longer on the edge of the bed; you found yourself cradled in his arms, upside down.
“Wha–Jay, put me down!” you protested, trying to mask the delight in your voice while feigning annoyance.
“Oh no, darling, I can’t let you wander around the city all unkempt,” he said as he strolled toward the adjoining bathroom. “And stop squirming, will you?” His warm hand playfully swatted your bottom, causing you to jolt.
“Jay! Be nice!” you huffed. Yet, even with his backside right in front of your face, you could see the cheeky grin he wore. As he entered the bathroom, he recalled the tedious renovations you had convinced him to do. The old, ugly mirror had been swapped for a vintage, silver-trimmed one that had seen your face contoured in pleasure more times the both of you liked to admit. The shelves that had been a hassle to install were now filled with a vast amount of products he didn’t quite understand. Incense holders dotted every flat surface, complementing the pricey french vanilla candles and bathroom accessories you just had to have.
"Do I really have to shower?" Your voice broke through his thoughts, making him furrow his brows. He gently set you back on your feet, looking at you with a playful smile.
"Did you really just ask me if you have to shower?" he teased. You nodded, a serious look on your face. "Yeah, do I have to shower?" you repeated.
"Well, as much as I love seeing you all, um, 'marinated' from yesterday," he chuckled, his hands curling around your shoulders as his eyes took in your appearance. Your eyebrows were a wild mess without the usual gel; there were still remnants of sleep in the corners of your eyes, and your lips looked adorably chapped. "I have a feeling you won't be too thrilled with me when the clock strikes noon and you smell less than fresh," he said with a lighthearted grin.
You looked up at him, your eyes momentarily distant as if lost in the scenario he pictured, and then nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense," you said softly, giving a small shrug.
Turning towards the shower, your gaze wandered
over the bottles with vague labels and the odd
Shaped handle. You spotted not one, but two bars of soap?
Which one were you supposed to use?
Your hand hovered over the shelf, fingers twitching as you tried to recall something- anything, that would make sense of it. body wash... conditioner... shampoo... The words felt distant, as if you knew them but couldn't quite place them in order.
The space suddenly felt bigger than it should have been. Too many choices. Too many steps. Too easy to mess up.
"Hey, honey, I’m right here," he reassured you, and you gasped quietly as he pulled you close to his side. He had witnessed that look from you lately; when even the simplest tasks felt a bit daunting. But he was determined to stand by you every step of the way.
"No, Jay, I should kno-" you apologized, but he gently lifted your chin with his fingers, bringing your lips close to his.
"None of that… not with me, okay?" You nodded, though a bit reluctantly. He stepped back, the playful spark returning. "Come on, let’s get you cleaned up before we end up late"
You knew deep down that shame had no place in your heart, yet it clung to you like a stubborn shadow. Standing there in your shared closet, your hair trickling down your spine in damp strands, you couldn't help but feel like a total klutz.
“Just pick something, dumbass,” you muttered under your breath, your leg bouncing nervously as a weird feeling formed in your chest. Your gaze flitted back and forth between the two sections of the closet. You were fairly certain one was yours, the other Jason's, but why were so many of his hoodies draped on your side? Biting your lip, you let out a heavy sigh, shoulders curled inwards in defeat.
“Jay?” you called out, your voice tinged with a mix of hope and desperation. He appeared almost promptly, leaning casually against the doorway, a vision of calm. “Need any help?” he asked, fastening his belt with practiced ease. The contrast hit you hard; here he was, looking put together while you struggled to choose a simple t-shirt. “Uh, yeah, which side is mine again?” Your attempt to sound casual fell flat; you could feel his gaze penetrating the facade you tried to maintain. He pointed silently to your left with a knowing look that said this wasn't the first time.
"Oh yeah, I knew that," you said nervously, your hands grasping the first thing that came into reach, a plain white long-sleeve. But just as you were about to let the towel fall so you could pull the shirt over your head, you heard him clear his throat, halting you in your tracks. You turned to look at him, arching an eyebrow in question.
“Do you need me to grab you some underwear, darling?” His gentle tone aimed to soften the embarrassment that had recently swelled within you at being called out. Heat rushed to your cheeks, a flush of crimson igniting your skin. It didn't work. “Uh… yeah, could you please?” He nodded wordlessly before slipping away. You remained hidden in the closet; a comfortable silence surrounded you in place of his absence. When he finally stepped back in, your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes widened ever so slightly. In one hand, he held a small stash of your belongings, his other arm casually draped a pair of jeans over his shoulder. Moving closer, he placed your cherished items on the shelf, a shelf that had been installed at your request during the bathroom renovations.
"Here are your bracelets, the ones you always wear," he started, his voice steady as he pointed to each piece. "Your earrings, your rings, your underwear, your perfume..." Each word he spoke resonated with care, a testament to the thought and attention he paid to you. Finally, he grabbed the jeans from his shoulder, holding them up with a smile, "And these... these are your favorite jeans." He carefully folded them before placing them beside the rest, an act so ordinary yet infused with tenderness.
You found yourself lost in the display of your things, overwhelmed by a swell of silent gratitude. It was as if he had taken a moment to weave together the fragments of who you were, laying them out before you as an offering. When you finally lifted your gaze to meet his, your heart swelled.
A lump formed in your throat as you cleared it softly. "Thank you, Jay," you said, your words genuine and heartfelt. "I don’t know what I would do without you." Your hand instinctively reached out to him, wanting to ease the need for him. He offered you a gentle shake of his head, leaning forward so that his lips brushed lightly against the crown of your head.
"There’s no need for that," he murmured, his voice soft and reassuring. "I’ll wait for you in the living room, okay?" You nodded, a warm swirl of emotions churning within you as he slowly stepped away, giving you the space you needed.
Yet the room felt quieter after he left, and for a moment...you didn't know where to start
"Jay, where are we going?" You asked, the crisp wind tousled your hair like a shampoo commercial. The frenetic pace of Gotham's streets surged around you, a relentless current that seemed to pull you forward, even when your heart longed for a moment of stillness.
"We're just going to get you checked up, okay?" he reassured you, his grip tightening around your hand, a tether to keep you anchored in this chaotic maze. You struggled to match his step, but each corner felt like dizzying vortex, spinning you into a maze of confusion. With every turn, your sense of direction crumbled further; it was as if the city itself conspired to obscure the very paths you thought you knew well. You had called Gotham home for years, yet it rarely felt like it nowadays.
As you glanced around, searching for something, anything, that would ground you, your hand instinctively squeezed his. He turned back, his brow furrowing slightly, that familiar look of careful observation shining through. You shook your head, your quiet attempt to convey that you were alright, even as the shadows of anxiety crept closer. He could see through your act, though; he always could. In Gotham, he lived by the belief that danger lurked around every corner, but today, he paused. For you.
"Hey, c'mon," he said, tilting his head toward the inviting glow of the diner window up ahead. A wave of relief washed over you, and you tightened your grip around his hand, seeking peace in his presence.
"You okay?" he asked softly as you reached the diner, standing in the embrace of its flickering neon light. His hands enveloped your face, his touch gentle as he brushed away errant strands of hair that the wind had messed recklessly. You nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat, the tightness threatening to crush you inside. The world had morphed into a gallery of the unknown, and you now recoiled from the surroundings you had once walked through without doubt.
"Yeah... I just got confused, that's all," you admitted, your gaze roving over the bustling scene. He followed the direction of your eyes, his hands settling around your waist, maintaining his vigilant stance. It both amused and comforted you to see him ever on guard, as if his mere presence could shield you from the imagined threats that lingered just out of sight, waiting to pounce. You let out a dry laugh, a sound that mingled with the tension in the air. "I'm fine, Jason," you reassured him, a warmth blooming in your chest as you gazed back at him. The moment his eyes met yours, an undeniable softness washed over his features. He searched your face as if it held the key to a vital secret, his eyes roaming until they found comfort in you.
"Mkay, good," he acknowledged, offering you a slow nod as if to solidify that fleeting moment of relief. "You need another minute?" His voice held a touch of concern, an instinctive caution against any sign of delirium creeping into your world. You nodded, a hint of a smile breaking through your lips in appreciation of his care. "Yes, a minute would be nice," you replied, and he honored that request.
Time itself seemed to slow as he stood beside you. His leg bounced nervously, eyes darting around the surroundings. Yet, through all of that, his grip on your hand remained firm. This was just him, what Gotham had done to him, a mixture of anxiety and unease. You found relief by resting your head against his bicep, comforted by the steady rhythm of his heart, until your gaze fell upon something that made your heart skip a beat.
"Jason, Jason, look!" you exclaimed, your voice brimming with excitement as you pointed, an enormous grin plastered across your face. The sound of your joy broke through the cloudiness of his mind, and he turned his focus back to you. His eyes followed your finger until they landed on a familiar sign. "Big Belly Burgers? You want a burger, baby?" he asked, an eyebrow quirking up, only to earn a dramatic frown and eye roll from you.
“Ugh, no, Jay, don’t you remember?” You responded, brows knitting together in frustration. "Last time I checked, you were the one having difficulty remembering, baby," he shot back playfully, a smirk stretching across his lips. His tease hung in the air, but it didn’t quite strike the chord he hoped for. “Ugh, Jay, how come you don’t remember?” You implored, your hand instinctively finding his side, pinching him lightly.
"Ow! What was that for?" he protested, feigning injury with an exaggerated performance. “That’s where you took me on our second date, remember?” You coaxed, looking up at him with those big, pleading eyes of yours that could melt even the iciest of hearts. He held your gaze, and you watched as the spark of remembrance flickered to life.
Oh, how vividly he recalled that day. You both had been just a couple of nervous teenagers back then. He remembered the way his heart raced as he tried to impress you, attempting to eat his burger with a knife and fork as if it were a gourmet meal, just to seem sophisticated enough for you. A soft chuckle slipped through his lips as he recalled how you called him out for his antics, your voice sweet like honey when you said his name.
He could still feel the heat creeping up his cheeks, recalling the way his words stumbled over themselves in their effort to find rhythm, how he had to wipe his clammy hands on his jeans every now and then, a secret he would never be brave enough to admit, even all these years later. “You mean the one where you swore you didn’t want any fries and ended up eating all of mine?” he teased, a playful lilt to his tone.
You huffed, “That's totally not the point here,” and amidst your feigned annoyance, warmth flooded through you. He chuckled, teasingly snaking a hand around your waist, pulling you closer. He turned his gaze back to the burger place, memories flooding his mind like vivid scenes from an old movie. He could almost see the two of you there, laughing and sharing secrets over greasy fries and sodas, but soon those sweet memories turned sour. How could you recall those moments with such clarity? That question lingered in the air, thick and uncomfortable, tightening his chest with an unsettling squeeze. A dark thought crept into his mind, but he shook it off. Was it even possible? “Sweetheart, how do you remember that?” he finally asked, his voice a low, hesitant whisper after a moment of easy silence that seemed to stretch on forever.
You looked up at him, a gentle hum escaping your lips in response. “What do you mean, Jay? That was basically yesterday,” you replied, your eyes sparkling with a hint of genuineness, yet confusion clouded both your faces like a gathering storm. He took a deep breath, an almost desperate attempt to steady himself, nodding as if he understood. “Yeah... yeah, you’re right,” he conceded, though doubt played a relentless game in his mind.
How could you hold on to a memory from so long ago, grasping it with such ease? The recent years you had built together, a home and a life, seemed to slip through your fingers like sand. Yet here you were, effortlessly recalling the details of that second date as if it had just happened a moment ago. You remembered his face, youthful and smeared with cheap ketchup from the fast-food place where he had scraped together change to treat you to a burger. But could you do the same with him now? He couldn't bring himself to face the answer. He pushed the unsettling realization to the back of his mind as he guided you back onto the bustling main sidewalk, the world around them a mixture of muted colors and sounds that felt distant. He resisted the urge to confront the truth brewing within him. You weren't in the present anymore.
The walk to the memory care facility felt brief. As you approached, the automatic doors slid open, ushering you both inside. The unmistakable scent of hand sanitizer mingled with that of bleach enveloped you. "Just a checkup?" You asked, your voice tentative as you stepped onto the gleaming floor. He glanced back at you, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment before he nodded. "You let me talk to the receptionist, okay?" he instructed, his gaze fixed on the front desk that loomed further down the hallway. The words danced on your tongue, a protest lingering there, but you swallowed them down. What could you possibly contribute to that conversation? You who felt like an echo of yourself, barely holding onto the fragments of your own identity?
"Yeah, I'll just sit down over there," you finally offered, directing your eyes toward a pair of plush chairs lined against the wall. He nodded, a small gesture of reassurance, but it was tinged with the usual protectiveness he maintained. Under different circumstances, he wouldn’t have let you wander more than a few feet away. As you took slow steps away, you sneaked glances over your shoulder, each one ensuring that he remained in your line of sight until you finally sank into the seat.
With a long, weighted exhale, he approached the receptionist, his presence becoming a blur in your peripheral vision as you twisted your fingers nervously in your lap, seeking a distraction. You wished to possess his confidence, to stride up to people and share even the simplest of details, like what day it was. Instead, you found your gaze wandering to your hands, decorated with rings and bracelets that seemed unfamiliar, relics of a present you couldn't quite grasp. The skin no longer felt youthful, but sagged slightly, a jarring reminder of how time had slipped through your fingers. Each glance in the mirror was a stark confrontation with the truth: time had moved on, while you felt stuck in limbo, robbed of the memories that should have defined you.
A soft voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, pulling you back from the depths of your mind. You hadn’t even noticed he had returned until he said your name, causing your head to snap up.
"The doctor is waiting for us," he said, extending his hand toward you, a familiar gesture that brought with it both comfort and reluctance. You nodded and took his hand, the warmth grounding amidst the storm of your emotions. Despite the facade you wore for Jason’s sake, a weight settled heavily in your chest about this facility. You understood he appreciated it; he believed it was the best place for you to receive care. But why? Was it the eminent reputation, thanks to Bruce's dime, or simply because they provided medication? Regardless, a sense of resentment bubbled within you, hatred at the very notion that you needed to be "treated."
“Alright, I’ll keep the questions straightforward for you, okay? You should answer some of these with ease, but don’t worry if you can’t,” the doctor said, his tone calm as he turned the page on his clipboard. You sat on the examination table, your heart racing, stealing glances at Jason over your shoulder. He offered you a warm smile, reassuring you with a small gesture to turn back to face the doctor.
The doctor’s smile was gentle as he looked at you from across the table, soft yet rehearsed. “Can you tell me what day it is today?” he asked, his voice inviting.
You hesitated, your gaze flitting briefly to Jason before returning to the doctor’s expectant eyes. Your heart thumped in your chest as you finally said, “Um… Thursday?” It was a guess, a wrong one at that.
Jason stayed silent, his presence grounding but still.
“Close,” the doctor replied softly, jotting something down with the scratch of his pen against paper, each stroke sounding disproportionately loud in the tense stillness.
“Do you remember why you’re here today?” he continued, his expression unfaltering.
Fingers fidgeting in your lap, you took a breath. “Just… a check-up?” The words felt flimsy as you glanced back at Jason, silently pleading for his support.
“Correct,” said the doctor, and relief surged through you, fleeting but palpable. But then the questions kept coming, each one tugging at your consciousness longer than you wished. You understood it was necessary for them to gauge the extent of your struggles; despite that, a part of you ached to escape this scrutiny. “Alright, just a few last questions,” the doctor said, turning to a fresh page.
He asked, “How old are you?”
Silence enveloped the room.
“Okay, that’s fine,” the doctor said, with a slight nod as he scratched out the question, a hint of understanding in his demeanor.
“How long have you been married?” he ventured then.
You felt a flutter of embarrassment as you replied, “Oh, we’re barely dating.”
The atmosphere shifted; so quiet that you could hear the hitch in Jason’s breath, feel the tension radiating from him like an electric current. The doctor’s glance toward him was loaded with sympathy, an understanding that hung heavily in the air between them.
“Okay…” the doctor finally said, writing your answer carefully. You sensed the shift within the room, a collective awareness of something you didn’t grasp, and it gnawed at you. What had you said wrong? A question simmered on the edge of your lips, but you dared not voice it.
“Is that all?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the worry wrapping around you like a fog. The doctor nodded, his expression warming slightly.
“Yes, yes, of course. You’re free to leave.”
His words lingered, and while a part of you felt relieved to leave, another part was unsure whether you had passed their version of a test or not.
The walk home felt heavy with silence, a quiet that felt thick and unsettling. You caught the weight of it even with your tangled thoughts. Jason walked next to you, his hands buried deep in his pockets, fists clenched tight against the fabric, a silent pressure between you. Was this all because of what you said at the facility? You shifted your gaze away, focusing on the rhythm of your steps matching his. No, Jason wasn’t one to hold grudges; if things were off, he’d let you know, wouldn’t he? But the lack of his words ate away at you with each step, making you feel more anxious.
He fumbled with his keys at the front door. His fingers trembled until the keys clattered to the ground. “Damn it…” he muttered under his breath, quickly dropping to retrieve them. His footsteps thudded against the hardwood floors as he moved, and you watched him intently, trailing behind like a timid shadow. The silence hung heavily, compelling you to linger near the center of the living room. He didn’t glance your way, didn’t steer you towards the bedroom as he usually did. A knot twisted in your stomach; what had you done wrong?
The apartment was cloaked in dimness, and you caught his frustrated murmurs as he shuffled around the couch, searching for the remote. You toyed with your belt loop. Surely, he’d speak any second now, right? Maybe he was just prepping a movie for you both, planning to settle you next to him, wrapping you in his warmth until you drifted off to sleep. Yes, that had to be it. You bit your lip, waiting for the reassuring sound of his voice that never came. Instead, a faint sniffle broke through the stifling quiet, his hand roughly rubbing at his nose, and then the blaring news drowned out the thick silence that swallowed the apartment whole.
Your hopes faded as he tossed the controller onto the couch again, leaving the screen flashing "Jaso-." He shook his head, clearing his throat roughly. "I just need a minute, hold on," he said, standing motionless for a moment, a shaky sigh escaping his lips as his hands rested on his hips. You paused, unsure whether to approach him, but your indecision vanished when you heard his hurried steps toward the balcony.
“No, Jason,” you cried out, your hand instinctively gripping his wrist before you could think. He turned, and you gasped softly. His eyes were brimming with unshed tears. “Jason?” you whispered, and he immediately averted his gaze. His jaw tightened as he sniffled. “What?” he snapped, but even through the sharpness, you could detect the trembling vulnerability in his voice. You opened your mouth, but no words came; your mind felt frozen.
“Is it me?” The question slipped out, your breath catching in your throat as you braced for rejection.
“What?” he asked again, this time with less bite, his brow furrowing in confusion. His eyes locked onto yours, and you saw the fear mirrored back the way your lip quivered with each anxious breath. “Fuck…” he muttered, his hands instinctively clutching at his hair.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” You pressed, fingers tightening around his wrist, drawing a weak whimper from him. His gaze dropped to your hand, fixating on the diamond ring that caught the light from the TV. You held your breath, waiting for his answer, but he remained paralyzed, staring at your hand as though it were searing his skin. His silence felt like an affirmation, and you began to withdraw your grip with a shaky exhale, but he wouldn’t let you go. His left hand found yours, intertwining their warmth as he gazed at the rings that shone together. A single tear traced down his cheek, and before you knew it, your free hand instinctively wiped it away.
His eyes finally met yours, swirling with worry, as he lifted your hand to his lips, bestowing soft kisses around the ring. “You’re my wife, my woman,” he whispered. His gaze flicked back to the ring, studying the engraved date as if he might wake from a dream at any moment. You felt your breath halt, then rush back in, heavy and suffocating.
“Jason, I’m so sorry,” you blurted out, cupping his cheek with gentle urgency, but he shook his head, the hitch in his breath betraying him against your palm.
“I didn’t mean to…” you started, but he clenched his eyes shut, forcing more tears to spill. He released your hand, yet before you could react, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Your chest collided with his, warmth radiating between you. “I know… I just thought I had more time,” he admitted, the sorrow evident in every shaky breath. His hand found your face, rough and calloused, hardened by battles you couldn’t even comprehend. “Please, baby, promise me you won’t forget me, okay?” The request hung heavy in the air. “Just promise me that?” he pleaded, and you nodded. The moment the words left your lips his mouth found yours, desperate, unsteady like
he was trying to hold on to something already
slipping through his fingers.
The bitter scent of burnt tobacco hung heavy in the balcony's air, dense and earthy, wrapping around him like an old, unwelcome friend. Tonight, Gotham pulsed with an unsettling energy, the unending wails of sirens piercing the stillness and announcing chaos just beyond reach. He sat with an empty Marlboro box resting on his lap. His gaze remained fixated on the ground, unblinking, lips slightly parted as though they were forever frozen in that moment, a testament to how long that slender cylinder had once occupied his mouth.
The sliding door to the apartment was cracked open, a sliver of darkness beyond, and his vigilant ears stayed alert for any hint of disturbance. It was quiet inside now; you had been lulled to sleep under his watchful care. Even as his eyes burned from the smoke, he couldn't tear himself away from the mundane sight before him. The stillness shattered with a harsh cough, a result of too many nights spent inhaling sorrow; the weight of too many packs pressed heavily on his chest. He didn't brush away the tears that welled at the corners of his eyes; instead; he let them flow unchecked down his cheeks, tracing the path of scars you had once kissed so tenderly.
After a long blink, he returned to his silent vigil. Earlier, the nurse had called, her rehearsed words echoing in his mind. He had refused, letting the call ring out until it reached voicemail. His eyes lifted slowly to the dark gap of the sliding door.
The bathroom was the third door on the left. He'd made a small mark on the frame with a pen last Tuesday, just a dot, nothing obvious, so you'd know without having to ask. The bedroom was the second one. He'd labeled that one too, eventually. Little things. Things he did quietly, so that you didn't have to feel the weight of needing him.
The doctors had said it was early intervention. He kept turning that phrase over as if there was something useful inside it. There wasn't. He couldn't tear his gaze away, as though he believed that if he concentrated hard enough, the answer would reveal itself to him. In that fragile moment, time itself seemed to stretch thin, but a sound abruptly shattered it. Something tender yet broken filled the air. The soft, hesitant patter of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and he rose slowly, each movement laden with years of care and caution. His feet felt like lead against the floor, heavy and cumbersome, but he made sure they made no noise, afraid of disturbing the fragile silence.
As he stepped into the apartment, the dreaded sound pierced through the quiet, a voice he had hoped never to hear in that tone.
Instinctively, he froze, his hand still gripping the edge of the sliding door, as if it were a lifeline. He caught a small sniffle, fragile as the sound of a child’s sob, so full of fear and confusion. Yet he stood there, motionless. You hadn’t called for him directly; you hadn’t even uttered his name. In that bleak moment, a devastating truth settled over him like a heavy shroud. It was over.
With a heart full of dread, he trod deeper into the shadowy hallways, his voice breaking the silence as he whispered your name, soft and gentle, a tender plea from a stranger. But it felt inadequate, a sad echo against your palpable fear.
The only response he received was a muffled sob, each sound tearing at him. The realization hit him like a storm: you feared him, and in that moment, his entire world crumbled beneath him. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, gripping it as if by sheer force he could somehow conjure up a solution, an answer to fix this.
“Baby, please, it’s me… Jason, your Jason,” he murmured desperately, each word slipping from his lips like a prayer. He took a step forward, filled with trepidation. He heard you shift, though he couldn’t tell in which direction. His palms pressed flat against the cool wall, searching blindly for the light switch.
The lights flickered to life with a low buzz that echoed in the stillness, and in that moment, he felt an overwhelming wave of déjà vu wash over him. There you were, curled up on the cold floor, tears streaming down your cheeks, an endless torrent that spoke of your despair. His breath hitched, sharp and uneven; he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. No, he thought, he wasn’t strong enough to face that pain just yet.
You held yourself tightly, your fragile body rocking back and forth in a desperate search for solace, a flicker of peace in this chaos. The word “mama” slipped past your lips like a sacred invocation, as if by uttering her name repeatedly, you could conjure her presence, begging her to emerge from the shadows and save you from this nightmare that felt all too real.
“Baby,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his heartbreak, a single tear trailing down his cheek as his fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt. He couldn’t bear to look at you; he feared that if he did, he’d lose the fragile grip he had on his own resolve. The urge to scoop you into his arms was nearly unbearable, but deep down, he knew that this might only make things worse.
“Baby,” he said again when all he received in response was a gut-wrenching sob. “She’s gone.”
In that instant, you froze. What were you to think? You were trapped in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by an unknown man who had just shattered your world with those cruel words. The realization hit you like a tidal wave; your mother, your protector, the one who kept darkness at bay, was no longer there. A heartbreaking wail erupted from deep within you, roar and loud, reverberating through the silence and shaking your shoulders with its intensity.
"Go away! Get out!" you screamed, the sound erupting from your throat in a raw, shattered cry that left a painful ache behind. His hand flew up to his mouth, biting back the anguish within him as his eyes squeezed shut, releasing silent sobs that felt like jagged glass tearing through the silence. He had never imagined that words could cut so deep, that they could pierce the very core of his being. "Get out, I said get out!" you sobbed, your feet instinctively shuffling backward until your back pressed against the wall, your fingers digging into the textured surface as if it were your anchor in a storm of chaos.
His feet moved of their own accord, propelling him towards the corridor before his mind could catch up, a haze of disbelief clouding his thoughts. He couldn’t breathe; the air felt heavy, suffocating. Thoughts tumbled chaotically in his mind, racing but never finding purchase. This couldn’t be real, surely. This was some cruel nightmare, a twisted joke that would end with the dawn. He reached out, searching for something to hold on to, but the weight of despair pulled him down. He crumpled to the floor, his chest heaving as though it bore the weight of a thousand burdens.
The tears that streamed down his cheeks went unnoticed as he fumbled with his phone, hands trembling violently as he tried to dial the facility, desperation coursing through him like wildfire. He paid no mind to the stares of passersby; their judgmental glances slipped past him like shadows. All that mattered was the thought of his baby, his love, his honey, inside, trembling and alone, in a world that felt impossibly dark.
He remained on the phone with the facility, unwilling to hang up until help finally arrived. "She's inside..." he murmured to one of the many nurses who rushed through the corridor, their keys rattling in the chaos. He loathed the sound, detested that he had to call out for them as if they were some kind of animal control. The door stood slightly ajar, leaving him trapped just outside, frozen in his spot. Through the thin cracks, he could hear your screams echoing through the walls, pleading with the nurses to go away.
You had promised, promised that you would carry him with you, that his memory would never fade from your heart. So why then did it feel you had forgotten?
The weight of your absence pressed down on him like a suffocating shroud. It felt as though hours slipped away as the compassionate nurses gently coaxed you out of the apartment, a final glimpse of you haunting his mind.
You emerged, trembling and fragile, your body shaking as you hiccupped softly into the palm of your hand.
One nurse lingered back, her voice steady but gentle as she informed him of the decision that had been made: you would stay at the facility now. Every syllable felt like a blade to his heart. He yearned to object, to scream and demand that they return you to him, but deep down, an undeniable truth swallowed his protests. This was what you needed; you didn’t need him haunting you any longer, scaring you with shadows from the past.
The couch creaked beneath him, its protests more subdued now that it bore the weight of just one instead of two. Your tablets lay untouched; the lid for Wednesday stayed open with only three pills left. It was Saturday.He rubbed his eyes, the red edges betraying the smoke that hung heavy from his cigarette, . Even in the last few months, when your memory had faded into a gentle haze, when you had become that fragile, lovable soul who needed him to care for you, he would have taken any moment, every single reminder he had to give you about flushing the toilet, over this unbearable silence.
He remembered that day, three days after it all happened, when he had ventured to the facility, his heart pounding with hope and fear. But the nurses had gently turned him away, their eyes filled with a kindness that only deepened his guilt. “She needs time,” they said softly, explaining that the trauma could impede your recovery. The truth of it cut him like glass, and no matter how many cigarettes he lit, they couldn’t chase away the bitterness.
"Red Hood makes a comeback to the streets after years of being gone, sparking speculations all across the city."
He had quit everything for you. Every crime, every mask, every late-night shadow's, it had all been for you. But as he stood there, clutching that red mask in his trembling hands, its gaze piercing through him as if it were demanding an explanation, he realized he felt so dreadfully alone. Gone was the person who made him reconsider his choices, who filled his days with meaning.
With a heavy heart and a deep breath, he finally surrendered to the darkness, placing the mask over his head, the weight of the world pressing down on him as he prepared to step back into the shadows.
"Red, you're being reckless—" The communicator abruptly cut off, or rather, he had turned it off himself. It felt like it was too late... or perhaps too early? In that moment, he found himself indifferent to the passage of time. His boots felt impossibly heavy, like weights shackled to his feet, and his knuckles throbbed with the remnants of violence. Each movement sent a familiar ache coursing through his muscles, reminding him of the toll this life demanded. All he longed for was to return to the apartment before dawn broke, to slip into your side of the bed where comfort always awaited him. He imagined inhaling the lingering fragrance on your pillow, the one that brought him solace, as he curled up with your favorite shirt. he'd put on the hoodies you’d claimed as your own, their warmth a reminder of you during these long, harrowing nights.
As he trudged across the rooftops, his footsteps echoing like a drumbeat against the cool, hard surface, he noticed the sun barely gracing the horizon through the lingering, heavy clouds. You would have adored today’s sunset, vibrant and breathtaking; the thought brought a fleeting smile to his lips.
Suddenly, his phone rang once, twice. He froze mid-step; the ringing cutting through the silence like a knife. The facility.
With a heavy heart, he removed his mask, digging into his pocket, he retrieved his phone and pressed 'accept' with a trembling finger.