Jason Flashfic

The ghoul stares back at him with wide, empty eyes. Its hair is shiny and wet, like it pushed through the curtains of cave water and clambered up here. The Robin suit is damp too. Bruce puts the creature at 4'6, criminally underweight, pale, but not deathly pale. Its blue eyes are dull, with the tiniest of bags under each. Its mouth is pouty. But even with these distortions, the imitation it makes is uncanny.

Bruce should have expected this.

The ghoul hops down from its perch and moves to Bruce with the bird-like agility of youth. Bruce tries to get into position to defend himself, but for a second, he fears he won't make it. He feels disarmed. Instead of an attack, the ghoul wraps its thin arms around Bruce's middle. When it looks up, its eyes are shiny. Deceptively innocent.

"Whatever you are," Bruce growls, "stay away from me."

The ghoul blinks. There's a smattering of freckles across its nose, a lovely crop of curls forming a heart over its forehead. Jason, Bruce thinks. He sweeps a hand over the ghoul's forehead despite himself. Cups its cheek. Obediently, the creature lolls its head into Bruce's palm, its eyes adoring.

Then, it takes Bruce's thumb into its mouth and bites it.

+

There was no way of escaping the witch without shooting her, Bruce will give Jason that. The real Jason, that is. They'd been forced into a tight corner, and Jason had done what he did to protect Bruce.

There's always a way, a more rational part of himself points out. The stubborn contrarian that Jason knows how to bring out of him so well.

Regardless of how they ended the fight, the more troublesome outcome is the creature.

You may kill me now, the witch had snarled, but your greatest guilt will eat at you long after I'm gone.

Bruce sighs. It's a bit on the nose, as far as curses go. The ghoul is pawing at the bathroom door, its feet shuffling under the slat. Wayne Manor's sturdy interiors are no match for a small creature's nails, but he can't hide in the showers forever.

After a few moments under the hot steam, Bruce shuts off the water and wipes himself down with a towel. When he re-emerges, the ghoul immediately clings to his hand and tries to bite him.

Bruce snatches his arm dully. "Stop that."

The ghoul gives him a dour look. It's so quintessentially Jason, the sulking and sagging and pouting. Under a different light, the ghoul could've been a boy, and the argument would've been about something else—Bruce announcing that he wouldn't be able to drive Jason to school that morning, Jason pretending it didn't bother him. The memory makes his chest ache, makes him question whether it's real at all. So much of what Jason had been—of what they both had been—is lost to the ethers of time. No delusion is strong enough to revive it. But for a moment, Bruce feels weak. For a moment, Bruce wants to give—wants to let the creature take.

He shakes himself off and decides to head to the cave.

+

The ghoul has taken to tucking its chin over Bruce's shoulder, even though cape and cowl give it no access to skin. Its arms hang limply over Bruce's shoulders, its face bored. Sleepy, even. Bruce presses his cheek to the ghoul's cheek. It presses back. In the reflection of the cave's monitors, Bruce can see the hazy shapes of Batman and Robin staring back at him—together, like they're always supposed to be. The universe is cruel, in that way. In one way or the other, Bruce will always have to bury Jason Todd.

Having learned by now that Bruce won't be letting him feed, the ghoul has taken to sucking on the cape. Bruce busies himself with his notes instead. Gotham has received its fair share of otherworldly creatures over the years, and Bruce has documented almost all that he has encountered. There's enough material here on what to do with ghouls, how to eliminate them. Luckily, the creature seems to have no energy for anything. No desire to feed on anyone but Bruce. This brings the threat-level down significantly. There won't be a fight tonight, not in the physical sense, and the total ghoul-count is only two.

Bruce frowns. He thought about it earlier, what shape Jason's ghoul must've taken. What dark horror followed him home. Someone he killed, most certainly. Someone whose life and unfulfilled potential keeps him up at night—a brash decision made with cold conviction. Bruce knows he should take some kind of pleasure in this cosmic comeuppance. In the actions and their consequences.

But the thought of Jason suffering dulls any vindication he could've felt.

"Where are you," he says, when Jason's cell goes straight to voice-mail.

"We need to do something about the ghouls," he says again, an hour later.

Jason never calls him back.

+

Jason has an apartment on East End, and Bruce knows where it is.

Admittedly, the climb is cumbersome with a weak ghoul on his back. The creature has no energy to support itself on hands and legs, but it hangs onto Bruce, pulls at his skin and whines when Bruce won't let him take a bite of his flesh. It's hungry. Pitiful. Bruce tried to buy it a burger on the way here. But neither burger nor cashier held much interest to the creature that was born to eat Bruce specifically, eat at him. His greatest guilt. The albatross around his neck.

Luckily for Bruce, the weight of Robin is more metaphorical than physical. Jason might not have the same luck. There's no telling what the boy's creature might be doing to him, what danger he might be in. Quickly, Bruce finds the fire-exit of the fourth story apartment and pushes open a window.

The anomaly becomes evident to him instantly. Jason's apartment is usually clean and impersonal to the point of sterile, but this time, the coffee table holds a few buttery magazines and a pack of Marlboros. Not Jason's usual brand of choice. Odder still are the bottles of nail polish. Pink, teal and scarlet shades glimmer in the low light, completely incongruent with the apartment around it.

A whisper of movement up north suddenly catches Bruce's attention. He moves through the hallway to follow it and ends up in Jason's bedroom, which is suspiciously empty. Bruce frowns. Air puffs at the curtain from an open window.

Bruce has a bad feeling about this.

+

Jason disappears for about four days.

Bruce tries to check all the tabs he keeps on Red Hood, tries to enhance surveillance across the city but with a hungry ghoul constantly on his shoulder and a severe lack of sleep going against him, it takes more effort than he would have wanted to dedicate. Letting his guard down around the ghoul is a dangerous prospect—letting it feed on him would almost certainly turn him into a ghoul himself.

But he cannot bring himself to kill the creature.

In the cave, the ghoul watches him pace with owlish eyes. It's starving, Bruce can tell. A part of him wishes it would lunge or attack, prove itself the demonic entity that it is, but all it does it hope.

Hope is dangerous.

With fuel and a can of salt, the job should be easy. It would certainly stop the nuisance. With the absence of Bruce's flesh, the ghoul has started to chase after other residue—sweat from the home button of Bruce's phone, his fingerprints on a glass of water. Keeping the ghoul away from him takes effort. It claws its way through doors, climbs up emergency ladders. When it can't get through something, it bangs its fist against it, slams its body against it.

Once, Bruce even heard a feeble, pained murmur.

It drives him mad, the thought that Jason needs him—the thought that he's starving Jason yet again. Of love, of sustenance, of—of survival. The boy isn't growing paler or sicker, but with every baleful gaze he casts in Bruce's direction, Bruce feels his gut clench and his conviction waver.

In the end, Bruce catches Jason right where his search began—in Jason's apartment.

He'd only just flung in, determined to comb through Jason's belongings for a sign on his whereabouts, when the back door hinge suddenly creaks. Bruce swerves just in time to catch Jason in a hoodie, a deer in the headlights looking to grab a bag and sprint. His eyes go wide. With practiced ease, Bruce swings a batarang until the line goes taut around Jason's arm.

"Fuck!" Jason tries to scrabble it off, but Bruce yanks him closer and slams him against the wall. The bag falls to the floor with a thud.

"Where the hell have you been."

"Nowhere." Jason scowls. "Get off me."

Bruce eases his grip but doesn't get off him. "I've been trying to reach you for four days."

"Yeah, I know." Jason rubs his sore shoulder and squints, then casts a glance at the Robin ghoul a few paces away, watching them boredly. "Cuddling with my corpse, huh?"

There's an unreadable expression on his face. Bruce avoids looking at him and searches through the apartment instead, his eyes scanning the environment even as his arms stay pressing Jason down.

"Jason?" A soft, female voice whispers.

Bruce freezes. The hardness of Jason's expression wavers.

"I'm here," he calls out. "Don't come out."

Despite Jason's warning, a thin, blonde woman steps through the doorway, her long legs concealing a strange, rubber-like strength beneath them. Sheila Haywood. Of course.

Bruce is just about to open his mouth when a sudden detail catches his eye. Jason's ghoul is wearing a pink nightgown, loose and floppy on its uneven body. Bruce narrows his gaze. With a pinched nose and carefully-made eyebrows stares a young woman, much younger than Sheila Haywood had been, with thick bangs framing either side of her face. An old-fashioned hair-cut. A fad from less than a decade ago that had suddenly faded from public consciousness.

Sheila Haywood had had curls.

"I told you to stay in," Jason scolds her softly.

The ghoul curls one leg over the other and crosses her arms uncertainly. Even with the blank look on her face, she moves with more vivacity than Bruce's own ghoul. Where Robin moved like he was tired, this ghoul had a spring in her step. An odd kind of bounce, like her limbs weren't quite used to motion and energy.

And what was that earlier? Jason?

"What have you done," Bruce growls suddenly, pushing Jason back against the wall with a forearm on his chest. "What did you do!"

Jason tries to knee Bruce between his legs. Bruce grabs his thigh just in time and rucks his hoodie up with his shirt. A cold, dreadful horror seizes him at the sight. Multiple scabs glint at him in the low light, fresh, red and sore. Teeth marks on skin. Rabid, long teeth marks across a body that's relatively flushed and healthy. When Bruce pushes Jason's chin up, he catches tiny indents there too.

"You've been feeding her," Bruce accuses.

Jason stares back with wry amusement, lifting one brow as if to say You've been starving him. A sudden discomfort gnaws at Bruce's gut. He'd done the chemical analysis on the ghoul right after it arrived in the cave. He knew, logically, that it needed to feed to gain energy. But he hadn't realized that a pound of flesh could return the ghoul its voice, its character. Suddenly, a flash of the cigarettes and the polish arrive to Bruce, and his eyes drift to Robin, who stares at him with longing.

Had he denied himself a chance to listen to the voice of the boy he buried?

"This is reckless," he says strongly. "We have no idea what a bite like this could do to you."

"C'mon," Jason huffs in disbelief. "We know what a bite like this can do. You can see it right there." He jerks his head at the woman, who had long grown bored with their confrontation and resigned herself to reading Vogue on the couch. "You really telling me you didn't put the pieces together?"

"Giving her your flesh isn't the same as giving her her life back," Bruce argues. "She's a ghoul, Jason. She's dead."

"Well, if you're here to ask me to kill her, you can put the idea to bed." Jason shoves Bruce's arms off of him. "I can't do it."

Bruce stares at Jason's back as he heads to the fridge, then lets his gaze drift to the woman. Underneath the rib-thin, stretched out skin, he observes the subtle cosmetic enhancements on the woman's face, the tilt of her lashes. A model, most likely. The thought summons up a dredge of memories, a fierce recognition.

Did Felipe fall, Jason?

"Gloria Stanson," Bruce says quietly.

Jason sets his water bottle down and shuts the door, as if Bruce's remark had no effect on him. But his shoulders are tense.

"I can't kill her, Bruce," he says, moments later, his face defiant but his voice weak with defeat. "You're gonna have to—" He flings his arms up vaguely. "I don't know. I don't want to do it."

The movement catches Gloria's eye. She licks her lips hungrily and tilts her head, an innocent hope washing over her expression. "Feeding time?"

Something about those words triggers Robin, who comes back to Bruce's side and buries himself there with longing. Please, his body seems to say. Please, Bruce? From the kitchen, Jason watches them with a strange look in his eyes, then turns to Gloria and says, "Come here."

"Jason," Bruce warns.

"Relax, it's just a little." Jason drives the edge of a knife against his thumb, revealing a fresh curve of blood. Gloria hops over to him and holds his palm to her mouth, drinking the blood in feeble sips.

"Ah," she sighs. "That's good."

Jason's eyes soften.

Bruce feels his own hand tighten protectively against Robin's head. "Jason. You can't play around with the dead."

Jason shrugs. "Hey, I came back! Why shouldn't she?"

"It's not the same thing," Bruce says gently. "Even if your flesh and blood can animate her, it won't return her soul. It's—an unnatural way of life, and not one she can sustain."

"That's not for you to decide. My body, my choice, remember?"

"Not if it concerns your life."

Jason's eyes flare with challenge. "How come you haven't killed lil' zombie pipsqueak then?"

Bruce glances down at Robin, who is trying to chew his way through Bruce's body armor with his little teeth.

"I can't do it," he admits.

Jason laughs without humor.

"That's why I came here, Jason," Bruce says. "It may be—difficult. But it's necessary work. We can't go on any longer like this." Especially you. "We have to eliminate them. We have to hold each other accountable and get it done."

"You know, on any other occasion, I would've loved to do a double-homicide with you," Jason says. "But you just had to pick this one, huh?" He sighs. "Alright. What've you got?"

+

They go down to the Batmobile together, Bruce, Jason, and their two ghouls. Bruce tucks Robin in the back, while Jason holds the door open for Gloria. They've barely slid into their seats themselves when Robin clambers over the console and climbs into Bruce's lap.

Bruce sighs.

"Forgot his car seat?" Jason tuts exaggeratedly.

Bruce ignores him and pulls out of the alleyway. It's not the first time Robin has done this. The ghoul craves proximity where it's denied flesh. But with the adult Jason in the passenger seat, a more pressing truth makes itself evident. Beneath his chin, Bruce can feel Robin's hair tickle him, but it's the only obstruction he offers. Robin is small. Bruce had forgotten how small he was. Somehow, with its living counterpart only a few paces away, the creature feels even younger in Bruce's lap.

"Aw, I chipped it again," a soft voice declares from the back.

"You say something, Gloria?" Jason turns. When Gloria holds up a hand, he searches his breast pocket. "I've still got the teal one. You liked that one, right?"

"Mm-hmm." She smiles, accepting the bottle and propping one foot on the console to give it a polish. Bruce watches Jason out of the corner of his eye, his heart beating out of order. The curse reveals an uncomfortable truth. For the last few years, Jason has carried the woman in the backseat in the same way Bruce carries Jason. It's a heavy weight. It consumes.

For both their sake, Bruce takes the longer route back to the manor. If Jason notices, he doesn't let on, watching the city recede around them to reveal the green, rolling hills and woods of Bristol. Every now and then, Robin attempts to bite Bruce's cheek, his mouth. Bruce cups his hand around his face like a muzzle for a few seconds but lets him go. He wonders what would've happened if he'd given this Jason something—even an inch. If he would've heard that bright, jovial voice say "Bruce!" with the full fondness of youth once again.

He thinks about how much Jason was willing to give Gloria.

"You're staring again," Jason says pointedly.

Bruce's hands tighten on the wheel. "I didn't know you still...thought about her..."

"You don't?" Jason arches a brow, examining Bruce's face for a few seconds before shaking his head with his conclusion. "No, of course you don't. Best to keep the past in the past and move on, right? Probably healthier too."

"Does this look like moving on to you?" Bruce gestures to the boy in his lap.

Jason huffs, frustrated. "That's different."

"How so?"

"It was our job to protect people like her," Jason argues. "S'what I signed up for."

"Loss is a painful part of what we do," Bruce says hesitantly. "I wish I could say something to make it better, Jason, but it's never easy."

Jason mutely shakes his head. His eyes are red-rimmed. Bruce's heart twists with discomfort, with pride. In a way, it's just like Jason—that his first loss as a hero affected him so deeply, he still carries it. Jason is stubborn, sensitive, quick to emotion and to action. He never accepts failure as an answer—from himself, or anyone else. Bruce can empathize, even admire that determination. But that doesn't mean he isn't also a little afraid of it.

"Burying them again will be difficult," he begins. "But—we'll be together. I'll be there with you. Whatever we may have to carry tonight, we'll carry it together."

He wonders if that even means anything to Jason at this point, with the evidence of Bruce's failure sitting right between them. But when his eye catches Jason's, he sees his trust reflected right back in them.

+

As the pale blue light of dawn spreads around the estate, the four figures walk through the woods together. Robin and Gloria's clumsy footfalls crunch the leaves underneath them; Bruce and Jason move ahead of them in silence.

Bruce wants to say something to Jason about how it matters that he's here and alive. That no matter how complicated things have gotten between them, no matter how much Bruce grieves the boy who never got to grow up, he would never trade his Jason for a pale imitation, a shell of what once was. That he's sorry he can never quite give Jason what he wants, what he needs.

There’s a lot about Y/N that Bruce doesn’t know about despite the two of them being married for over a decade. He knew she had sisters, two of them to be exact but that they were all content in doing their own thing and rarely visited each other. He knew Y/N had some form of military experience, which is why she could handle herself in a lot of weird and dangerous situations. He knew the basic stuff, her favorite color, her favorite meal, and everything that a good spouse should know about their significant other. 

He knew enough. Just not all of it. 

Y/N huffed into her drink, minding the hot liquid as the Jeep Wrangler snapped a branch under its large wheels. This is what they get when they let the youngest drive, and Yelena was taking them down this weird path that she found on her way back to their vacation home. Natasha sat in the back, all of them wearing some form of beach wear, and in their hands were different drinks. 

“Wooohoo, I love this car!” Yelena’s thick accent made Y/N chuckle and Natasha smile. Her brown eyes followed the line of Y/N’s shoulders, watching them slope and weigh down with stress. This vacation was a spur of the moment, but it’s been long overdue. Y/N was not in a vacationing mood until this past year, and Natasha and Yelena were quick to jump on that. They missed their middle sibling, but they also knew that she was going through a lot. 

The loss of a child is always a heavy thing to bear. 

“I took the liberty of redecorating some stuff, but I know you’ll like it,” Yelena added, using the Wrangler to go through the tiny stream, which let everyone know they were close to their house. Y/N smiled, “We do have similar decorating styles, so how bad could it be?” 

“Well, I’ve been living here for almost six months, so we’ll see.” Both Natasha and Y/N stared at their youngest sister in a mixture of shock and annoyance. Yelena was always eccentric like that. When they arrived at the house, both Natasha and Y/N gave a heavy sigh in relief. At least the outside was normal. Knowing Yelena, the interior will be… something. 

Although, Y/N wasn’t going to complain because she really needed this. These past few years have been stressful with little time to catch her breath. She went from grieving, to anger, to more anger at the sight of their neighbor dressed in familiar colors, to exhaustion. She adored Timothy Drake, and often treated him as her son, but that didn’t replace the giant hole in her chest from her other son. 

Jason Todd. A name that has haunted her for the past few years. He was taken too soon, and Y/N could sometimes barely find the strength to roll out of bed at the thought of him. Lucky Bruce for having a mission, as much as a lost cause and bane to her existence it was, that got him out of bed, while Y/N had nothing. Absolutely nothing to get her motivated enough. Yes, Tim and Dick helped out a lot, but nothing replaced the missing space Jason occupied. 

She avoided the library, rarely drove her favorite car, and sitting at the dining table became a chore. It’s definitely caused a rift between her and Bruce, and her husband looked like he had no real intention in trying to mend it. With Tim now, at least Bruce has become a bit more chill. Especially out as Batman, and Y/N chewed him out that his mental health and moral code shouldn’t be enforced by a 13 year-old. 

That seems to be the only thing they do nowadays. Arguments and cold shoulders. 

Recently however, there’s been a new person on the streets that's been causing everyone a lot of stress. The Red Hood. A man who was single handedly bringing Crime Alley to kneel and driving Batman up the wall in frustration. Sure, the severed heads in a duffle bag may have been a bit overkill in her opinion, but if that’s what gets the drugs out of the hands of little kids then she can get behind it. 

Y/N hummed when she was shown a picture, Bruce urging her to be cautious, and she hid a smile behind her cup of tea at the stress lines on Bruce’s face. No, she didn’t want the guy stressed like this but he’s been pissing her off incredibly so these past few weeks so seeing him frazzled the way he’s frazzled her had definitely tickled a sore spot in her. 

Not her best moment, but she never claimed she was a saint. 

So with some push from her sisters and also from the people she lived with, Y/N decided to go on vacation. A long overdue one, but well needed. She and her sisters had purchased this island together quite a while ago, and they used to try to do a vacation once a year at minimum out here. However, Y/N got married and times had to shift around her kids’ schedules. She somehow always made it out though. Just not for the past few years. 

“Good to be back,” Y/N welcomed the home, and her eyebrow twitched at the slight mess in the living room. Overall though, the place was just how she remembered it. Large windows that faced the open ocean, an infinity pool of sea water that came directly from the ocean, and the openness of it all. It was a stark contrast from the manor and its Victorian walls and decor, which Y/N loved, but she’s always loved the ocean and the sun the most. 

She always meant to take her kids here, but this place was reserved for her and her sisters. They bought it with their money, and it was used fairly regularly by the other two. Before she had kids, Y/N would come by almost every season and enjoy the views and everything their home had to offer. Then it became once a year, which Natasha and Yelena understood with some bitterness on their younger sister’s side. 

“I washed your sheets, so they should be nice and fresh for you.” Y/N smiled at Yelena and she kissed her younger sister’s cheek in appreciation. She grabbed her bag and headed up the stairs where everyone’s rooms were. All rooms were about the same size and each had their own private bathrooms and walk-in closets, which acted more as storage than anything. None of them stayed long enough to fill the mini rooms with clothes, but maybe Yelena finally had a half-filled closet? 

All rooms had a wrap-around balcony, connecting their rooms from the outside, and floor to ceiling windows. Each occupied room was strategically placed so they could have a 360 view of the island, with Natasha choosing to watch the cliff side, Yelena the forests, and Y/N the beach side. 

Y/N’s room was a little more decorated, photos of family decorating her walls and bedside tables. She picked up the one where it was her, Jason, Bruce, and Dick at a gala. Probably a Christmas one judging by the color scheme, and a bitter smile took over her face. Dick and Jason were in the midst of arguing, and Bruce looked exhausted. His face in his hand and the slight furrow in his brow, while his other hand rested on Y/N’s shoulder. She had one arm resting on Jason’s shoulder, holding him close to her side, while Dick stood between her and Bruce and Y/N’s other hand was resting on his chest in what looked like she was trying to soothe him. 

Despite the argument, there was no real heat in any of their faces, with Jason sticking his tongue out and Dick looking offended at the action. 

Y/N set the photo down and looked around her room, noting the lack of dust and the lack of smell that formed when a room hasn’t been used. She made a mental note to thank Yelena. It looked like Yelena even put up some recent photos for Y/N, now that she saw there was one of her and Tim. 

‘Little stalker.’ Yelena and Tim should never meet, Y/N concluded. She set her bags down and collapsed onto the King bed, and felt her muscles relax. It was a 10 hour flight, and then an hour long drive to get to the port, followed by a 40 minute yacht ride, then another 20 minute drive to reach their destination. Yes, it was a hassle to get here, but that’s exactly why they chose this place. For its remoteness. 

Pulling herself off the bed she opened the glass door to her balcony and was greeted by fresh air and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. The palm trees beneath them swayed with the breeze and she could see a bird every now and then. She leaned against the glass railing, lips pursed as she took in the sight. 

Without a doubt, her kids would love this view. Maybe she’ll bring them one day. She glanced back at the photo of her and Jason, a candid one of them when they fell asleep in the library and The Count of Monte Cristo rested in Y/N’s hand with Jason’s head on her shoulder. 

‘We never finished that book.’ Pushing herself off the railing, she shut the door and headed towards the bathroom to shower. 

When she exited in her bathing suit, the steam that followed her out was brushed away by a gentle breeze. Y/N’s attention snapped to the balcony door, which was slightly ajar. She furrowed her brow, “I thought I closed that,” she mumbled to herself, walking over and closing it once more. She heard the audible click and tried to remember if she heard it before she got in the shower. 

She didn’t. Y/N pursed her lips, and gave a heavy sigh, “C’mon Y/N, you’re better than this.” She grabbed her towel, a sun hat, sun glasses, a book from her bookcase, and left her room and went down to the pool. Yelena said she stalked up on pizza and would be heating it up closer to dinner, so until then, Y/N was going to relax by the pool. 

++++

“So then I told them that it was the left switch actually, and oh man you should have seen their faces!” Natasha, forever composed, chuckled while Yelena and Y/N gave a loud laugh. They sat outside, underneath the stars with the house lights dimmed, and Yelena was recounting her year for her sisters. 

Just like their dad, Yelena was always a great story teller, while Natasha and Y/N took after their mother, patiently listening. Y/N leaned against Natasha, minding her sister’s cup of coffee while she and Yelena were working through the large vodka bottle that their youngest sister brought. 

Natasha kissed the top of Y/N’s head, enjoying that her sister was finally here. Brown eyes met E/C and she could still see the pain reflected in those pools of intelligence and love. When she had heard about what had happened to Jason, to the boy Y/N bragged and raved about, her heart broke for a boy she only knew from stories and for the love her sister had for him. 

“He’s not doing anything Nat! Our son, my son, was just mur-” Y/N gasped and Natasha kept telling her younger sister that she needed to breathe. 

“Jason is dead. My son is dead! And he wants to put that Мудак* back in Arkham, as if that's going to do anything!” 

She can recall when Y/N nearly went ballistic when Dick was strapped to a bomb. There were plans being made and Natasha could hear the faint sound of something zipping before she managed to talk her sister out of doing whatever it was she had planned. Y/N wasn’t the most well known in her capacity of showing grief. It was like her sister had a lock and key on that particular emotion, and even when they were younger, Y/N struggled showing it. It’s not like she couldn’t feel it, because Natasha can remember staying up and pressing her ear against their shared wall, and listening as Y/N sobbed. 

Y/N didn’t enjoy showing people she was grieving, even as a child. So when she got that phone call from her sister, and listened to her sob and break on the other side of the line, it had broken a part of Natasha as well. It made something ugly swell in her chest knowing that there was someone out there that caused Y/N to crumble. 

Although, knowing her sister, Y/N was never one to take something like that lying down. Y/N was an ‘eye for eye’ kind of person and while she may have cooled it after marrying Bruce, which Natasha and Yelena had opinions about, that is who Y/N was at her core. Batman may like to spew that he was vengeance, but Y/N was the living incarnate of karma. What goes around comes around, and Y/N always made sure that she was the one to hand deliver it. 

“So, Y/N,” Yelena called out, and Y/N hummed. Yelena and Natasha made eye contact, “What’s the plan?” Y/N hummed in confusion, “Relaxing, drinking, hang out with you tw-” 

“No no no, the plan Y/N. Against… ya’ know…” Yelena circled her finger next to her temple and Y/N removed herself from Natasha’s shoulder. She gave Yelena a cold look, “There is no plan.” Yelena stared in shock while Natasha furrowed her brows, “That’s not like you.” 

Y/N shrugged, “No plan. That fuck is in Arkham and he’s going to stay there.” 

“Okay, how do you know that? Hasn’t there been multiple Arkham break outs?” Y/N shrugged and she took a sip of vodka from the bottle, “He’s still there. Hasn’t broken out once. He’s staying in Arkham.” There must have been something in her eyes, or maybe her sisters just know her that well, because a grin broke out on Yelena’s face while Natasha’s posture relaxed. 

“He’s dead, isn’t he.” Y/N shrugged, “Don’t know, don’t care. He’s just never coming near my family again.” She took a chug and set the vodka down, which Yelena grabbed. Natasha gave a hum, “I heard the League of Assassins lost a valuable soldier recently." 

Y/N raised a brow, “Now where did you hear that?” Natasha shrugged, a smile on her lips, “Just saying, Ra’s is losing his touch.” Yelena and Y/N rolled their eyes, “About time that suit of moth balls retires.” 

“Or dies. I have a petition for him to die.” Yelena nudged Y/N with her foot, “One last mission?” Her sister snorted, “Hell no. My last mission was eight years ago, there’s no way I’m fit to go on another one… let alone one that infiltrates the League.” Maybe in her prime she’d do it. She’s done it before and made it out with only a scar, but she hasn’t done anything that physically intense since the trio's last hurrah. 

Yelena shrugged, “Just saying, no better way to make sure someone's dead then-” 

“To do it yourself,” All three stated. Natasha set her now empty cup of coffee down and reached for the vodka bottle. She and Yelena continued to eye Y/N, waiting and watching to see how she reacted. Y/N gave a small practiced smile, “He’s in Arkham. I won’t worry about him.” She pushed herself off the chair and gave a large stretch, the alcohol sat warmly in her stomach and made the world a little warmer and less stable. 

“I will see you both at breakfast tomorrow.” She didn’t wait to hear a reply as she made her way back into their house and up the stairs. Y/N scratched the back of her neck, feeling the tension ease from her shoulders and the trauma slightly released from her pelvis. Entering her room, she made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face, not giving the room a glance. 

She knows where everything should be. After their lunch, she had come back up to unpack and place things where she wanted them. Her book, Emma, was placed back in the bookshelf and pajamas were laid out on the bed and ready for her. She hadn’t picked a book to read for tonight just yet, and she knows this because she would’ve set it down on her bedside table. Not her desk. 

Definitely not her desk, that she hasn’t been near all day. E/C eyes zeroed in on the book that was resting on the dark oak. Her hand reached to her bedside table, silently pulling out a gun, and turning the safety off. She scanned the area, noting no changes to anything else and she didn’t spot any cameras. 

Years of experience that she thought she left behind made its way forward, it made her steps silent and muscles tense and she stalked to the desk. She scanned the balcony, noting the door was still closed and there were no signs of entry. When she cleared the balcony, she returned her attention to the book. She used the light of the moon to illuminate the room, and her brow furrowed at the sight of the title. It was Frankenstein. 

“The hell?” She didn’t hear any ticking, and the air didn’t smell differently either. Using the tip of the gun, she flipped the cover of the book and her breath stilled. In the middle of it was a picture of just her and Jason. They were in her convertible with the top down and sitting on the back like those old beach movies, their feet on her nice leather seats, and in their hands were burgers and milkshakes. It was a sunny day, with the both of them wearing sunglasses and shorts, and Jason had on the cheesiest smile while Y/N was staring fondly at him. 

“Ma! Liking that flavor is a crime.” Y/N scoffed, “Says you! Plain vanilla, really Jay?” Her son gasped, and pressed himself into her, “It’s a classic! You love classics!” 

“Yeah, classic literature.” Jason scrunched his nose, taking their order for them and following her back to her car, “Oh! Can we eat in the car this time?!” 

She leaned against the desk, resting the gun on the wood and putting her weight into her hands. Her chest tightened and she bit her lip to stop any sound from coming out. If her sisters thought this was heartwarming then they were sorely mistaken. Deft fingers picked up the image and her thumb traced Jason’s face, and she did everything in her power to remember his smile. 

“My Jason…” 

+++

There were little things like that, photographs being placed in places they shouldn’t be, books that she never touched, and doors not closing all the way that had Y/N looking over her shoulders for the next few days. Y/N felt as though she was being driven up the wall. Not to mention her two sisters kept asking about the Joker. 

All of it was driving Y/N insane, and when she finally got some sense of peace, floating in the pool, she allowed her mind to drift. She could faintly hear Natasha and Yelena talking, but their voices were muffled as they were in the kitchen and her ears were underwater. The warm breeze from the mediterranean ocean kept her skin warm while the water’s weightlessness alleviated all the tension she was feeling. 

Her mother always said that her biggest flaw was she carried her stress on her shoulders. It was her one give away and it had been one of the few things that the Red Room could never get rid of. Her father joked that she’ll have broad shoulders because of it, and her mother would swat at him with a roll of her eyes. 

She held her breath and allowed herself to submerge under the waters. Y/N opened her eyes after a while and when she peered up, she shot out of the water and rubbed her eyes. 

“Y/N! What's going on?” Yelena called out, and Y/N was coughing up the water she accidentally inhaled when she gasped. 

“Did you see that?” Yelena raised a brow, “See what?” Y/N motioned to the edge of the pool frantically, “The-the person! The person with a re-red helmet!” Natasha emerged from the house, a glass in her hands and she gave her sister a cautious look, “Y/N, no one was there.” Y/N’s eyes were wide and frantic, and Natasha took in how shaken her sister was. 

“Why don’t you come in and eat. The heat may be getting to you.” Y/N wanted to scream that she was not going crazy. The reason it seemed like she was, was because the two of them kept moving her photos and books! 

She bit her lip, and pulled herself out of the pool. The blurry image of the red helmet staring down at her didn’t leave her mind, but she chalked it up to home following her. There was no way the Red Hood, who didn’t know her connection with Batman, would follow her all the way out here. 

Let alone go unnoticed on this island. 

Natasha handed her a glass of wine which Y/N finished in two gulps. Her sister gave her a look, to which Y/N shrugged off. 

“Stressed much?”

“Yes.” Y/N rubbed her temples, “Extremely.” She moved to sit at one of the tables, ignoring the snacks and odd looks. Natasha and Yelena sat next to her, and waited. Y/N chewed on her words and she couldn’t stop the slight tremor, “Fuck… I feel like I’m losing it.” Yelena hummed, “Why?” 

“Even at home, it felt like Jason was haunting me. I could see him everywhere, and I know.. I know you guys are trying to help but messing with my books and things ain’t helping.” The silence was a little too heavy for Y/N to sit through, and when she looked up, she hated the confused faces of her sisters. She buried her head in her hands, “Please tell me that was one of you guys.” 

The silence was enough of an answer and Y/N felt her heart rate speed up. ‘Who the fuck is entering our house?’ For it to be Red Hood made no sense, because he had nothing against Bruce Wayne let alone his wife. Unless he wanted to make a statement of her? Which, he’s going to have a great time finding out that she was not a delicate flower that she likes to play as. 

Plus what kind of statement would that even be? She’s seen enough to know the reason doesn’t even have to be a good one. Some people are just cruel to be cruel.  She tried to imagine the Red Hood, who looks after the kids in Park Row, being cruel just to be cruel. She couldn’t. 

“I think you’re just stressed,” Yelena added, unnecessarily because Y/N knows she’s stressed. She bit down her biting words and instead of sighed heavily, if the Red Hood is here, then she’ll greet him with a gun and a threat. 

Sensing her growing ire, Natasha began to rub Y/N’s back again. Something was bearing heavy on her shoulders and she wanted to help her sister. It couldn’t have been that clown’s death, which despite the various attempts, she managed to dodge or state that he was in Arkham. 

Then again, Y/N hasn’t killed anyone in a while, so maybe it's the guilt of that? 

“Y/N, please tell me. Did you kill the Joker?” Like a live wire snapping, Y/N filled the air with a charge that had everyone taking a step back and the hair on the arms standing, “Yes! Okay! Yes, I fucking killed him!” It was spoken with the tone of someone finally letting their sanity slip, like a driver stuck in traffic watching the third car accident happen. She spun around, facing her sister and staring her in the eyes, “Is that what you want to hear?! That I had a hand in that monster’s disappearance because yes! Yes I did, and no, no I don’t regret a single thing.” 

How could she? How could she regret filling that disgusting piece of trash up with bullets, after everything he did to her family? For killing her son, her Jason, for Barbara, and for everything he’s put Gotham through. All the families he’s torn apart, all the people he’s buried, or worse sent them in a slow descent to madness. 

Gotham had enough criminals, enough that will run the areas Joker left behind, so really… he won’t be missed. Not by her, not by her family, hopefully not by Harley because her new found friend deserved better, and definitely not by the people of Gotham. Maybe she was a little enthusiastic about getting rid of the body, but who cares. The man was dead, and Y/N was so happy to see that stupid, horrific smile wipe off his face when he realized it was neither the Bat nor Nightwing about to kill him. Instead, it was a grieving mother, with her last straw broken and a gun she hasn’t used in almost a decade. 

“God, I should’ve done it sooner too. That fucking monster, all the orphans he’s made, all the parents that had to bury too small of coffins-” She choked on her words, remembering Jason’s, he baby boy’s closed coffin being lowered into the ground and with a tombstone so horrible she could barely look at Bruce. 

“-All the lives he’s ruined all because of some sick fucking perversion for Batman!” Tears were now racing down her face and her sisters watched in shock as their sister unraveled in front of them, 

“My baby… my son… How could I just lay in bed knowing that the murderer of my son was laughing in a padded room? Knowing that my eldest tried…” and Bruce fucking revived that fuck! He claimed it was for Dick, and part of Y/N believed him because Dickie may have crumbled under the weight of knowing he took a life… but there was therapy for that and Y/N had a lot of experience dealing with murder. Hell! The two of them may have been able to bond even more about that! 

She would’ve opened her past up for Dick, something she hasn’t done completely for Bruce, and helped compartmentalize and organize everything of the murder. 

Hands rested on her back, and she met the heartbroken eyes of her sisters, and it made her cry harder. How could Bruce bring him back? Did Jason not haunt him like he did to her? She could see him in every doorway, at every meal, in the passenger seat of her car, Y/N saw Jason everywhere with his large smiles and bright laugh. 

Her son in every way that wasn’t blood followed her from room to room, from reality to her dreams. Her Jason was everywhere.  Dick was Bruce’s son, and he was hers as well, but every mannerism was from or influenced by Bruce. That’s why he is a better, kinder vigilante than Batman. Bruce got to have his son in Dick, but Jason was hers. All her’s. From their love of literature, to the attitude, and crossed arms when faced with situations that could’ve been solved if their words were taken seriously from the start. At one point, Jason even started picking up on her slight accent, one that had Y/N thrilled and Bruce smiling fondly at the two. 

Her Jaybird. Cut from life too soon because he was a good kid, who loved with everything in him, and wanted to save his mother. His real mother. Y/N had a glass of her finest wine when she heard Sheila died. She succumbed to her injuries, but had the nerve to say that her son, Y/N’s boy, was a good son with her dying breath. As if Y/N didn’t know that. 

As if that wench wasn’t part of the reason he was dead. 

Sheila got off easy because if she didn’t die that day, Y/N had a plan to make that woman’s life a living hell. A type of hell that would have that woman wanting to die. 

“Nat, Lena… I… I don’t know what to do.” Because killing the Joker did not bring Jason back. She doesn’t even know if this is what Jason would have wanted. While Jason was her son and they both believed in an ‘eye for an eye,’ it was hard to know without hearing it, because he was also Robin. If Bruce were to ever find out, she can’t say how he’d react. It has yet to be discovered that the Joker was dead, but she has a feeling that it won’t last long. 

If Bruce found out, Y/N could see the arguments and cuffs already. Bruce chewed out Dick for killing the Joker, and when Y/N got involved, they were both nearly at each other’s necks about it. 

“It was wrong!” Y/N saw red, “What was wrong was you reviving him! Don’t yell at Dick for killing the thing we all want dead!” She and Bruce glared at each other, “You don’t honestly think, that-that thing can be saved. Do you?” 

“Jack Napier deserves-” 

“Nothing. He deserves absolutely fucking nothing. Not after what he’s done to us, to Barbara, and to all of Gotham.” 

They slept in different rooms that night, and for multiple nights following that. She’s not sure if she’s ever been able to look at Bruce the same, and she knows he’s looking at her in a different light as well. Her husband has always been the better between the two of them. Because while Bruce can get hurt and shrug it off, believing fully that everyone can be saved, Y/N would hurt the person who hurt her. Her previous line of profession made it easy to decide who was worth saving and far beyond it. 

Not every sinner could be saved, especially those who don’t even want to be saved. 

Y/N choked on her sobs as the memory of Jason’s corpse surfaced to her mind. His broken and bruised body, changed from the suit to regular clothes, laying there in that haunted cave. Gone were the smiles, the awkward chuckles whenever Jason got too banged up and had to tell Y/N how he got so, followed by the laughs and apologies that Y/N always folded too. No warm arms to wrap around her waist in a hug, or cheeky remarks that made Y/N smile. 

When Dick arrived, still in the Nightwing uniform because he had just gotten back from his outer space mission, he all but collapsed into Y/N’s arms before his screaming match with Bruce. A screaming match that Y/N didn’t have the strength to participate in. Her attention was flickering between her last conversation with Jason, all their conversations, and now his dead body. 

Her sisters held her tightly, Yelena nuzzled her nose into Y/N’s shoulder while Natasha rubbed her back. The both of them afraid that anything more and their dearest sister would fall apart in their arms. 

++++

Whoever said leaving someone alone after a mental breakdown was a great idea, definitely deserves a shot of vodka. Y/N crawled out of her room to a post it note on the fridge, stating that Natasha and Yelena went to the mainland to grab more groceries and more vodka. Y/N shrugged, and reached into the fridge and smiled at the freshly cut watermelon and strawberries. There was also a wine bottle with her name on it, written neatly and in cursive. 

She’ll have a cup of coffee later. Y/N grabbed the wine bottle and both the containers of watermelon and strawberries. She popped the cork, and poured a generous amount in a mug, and made her way towards the porch with the bowl of watermelon and strawberries in her other hand. When she passed by the living room, she paused mid step, took a small step back where she had a full view of the space, and turned on her heel to face the person in her living room. 

“Well, I was wondering when you’d show yourself.” She took a sip of her wine from her mug, and watched the Red Hood carefully. He was taller, broader, and more decked out in weapons then she expected. He looked like the type of guy that would cut off heads and shove them in a duffle bag. 

“Here I was hoping you’d think you were going crazy,” The red helmet was tilted to the side, and the slits narrowed. Y/N huffed, “Well, almost had me.” She took another sip, and never broke eye contact with the tank that was standing in front of her. “I don’t appreciate you touching my books, let alone my photos.” 

It got her a shrug, “Couldn’t help myself. I love classics, and the photos… well just wanted to see what you’d do.” She’s going to cut off his fingers. That’s what she’s going to do. 

She set her mug down precariously on the back of the sofa, balancing it on the cushion and she picked up a strawberry, “So, what does the infamous Red Hood have to do with me? Unless I’m involved in some scandal that I have not been made aware of, I don’t think the two of us have anything in common.” At least, not enough to warrant a visit to a remote island in the mediterranean sea. 

He watched her closely, keeping track of her hands when she went to grab her mug of wine. “A glass of wine this early in the morning?” Y/N rolled her eyes, “It's a mug, and yes. It’s called vacation.” 

“It’s called a problem.” Y/N sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, “Give me a break. Someone with your recent history shouldn’t be lecturing me about a problem.” She moved to sit on the couch, but the Red Hood made an abrupt motion that almost had her chucking her bowl at him. 

“No no, don’t move.” Y/N raised an eyebrow, “Well, if you want to have a discussion, I would like to sit.” The Red Hood huffed, “Just keep your hands where I can see them.” 

“Scared of little ol’ me?” Y/N walked around the couch, her hands occupied, and sat in the middle. 

“I’ve seen the weapons you have stored here. You’re not as innocent as you like making people believe.” Y/N narrowed her eyes, “We all have secrets. Surely I’m privy to mine, plus those are my sisters.” 

“If being a trained mercenary with a kill count, infiltration prowess, and one of the notorious Widows, is a secret you want to be privy too, that’s a pretty big secret.” ‘This fuck,’ Y/N sucked her teeth and took another sip. She smirked, “Hmmm, the masked man of mysterious origins is going to lecture me on secrets?” 

A dry laugh left him, and Y/N watched as he lightly scuffed his foot into the wood flooring. For a moment, her boy Jason stood in front of her, with an awkward smile and hands behind his back. 

She narrowed her eyes and quickly buried it. How could her son be haunting her in this situation? 

“So, you never did answer my question, what are you doing here?” Y/N popped a watermelon piece in her mouth. There’s a gun taped to the bottom of the coffee table, and a few knives hidden in between the cushions, if she could distract him enough to grab one she’ll have a chance. 

Then again, she’s killed someone with a mug before so in the worst case scenario she breaks this one. 

“Just thought I’d visit Gotham’s most well respected woman-” 

“Lying doesn’t look good on you.” 

“- and ask a few questions.” Y/N raised an eyebrow, “Questions?” He nodded and Y/N could feel the temperature drop around them, “What did you do with the Joker?” Y/N glared, “I don’t appreciate that name being brought up while I am on vacation.” 

What is with everyone’s obsession with that guy? First Bruce, then her sisters, and now this guy? 

“I can imagine, considering he killed your son.” The temperature dipped to freezing and Y/N looked ready to murder the Crime Lord in front of her. Her grip on the mug was tight and she looked ready to launch the bowl in her hand. 

Red Hood watched her for any sign of attack, and when he found none, he continued, “I’m curious what an ex-Widow, with all your tools and training, would do.” Y/N sucked her teeth, “What does it matter. He’s not getting out.” A laugh escaped the helmet, dry and humorless, “Right, as if he hasn’t gotten out how many times before.” Y/N grit her teeth, “He’s not getting out.” 

“Why, new security?” Y/N pursed her lips, “Have you been to Arkham yet?” He stiffened in front of her, and Y/N barked out a laugh, “Relax, I meant in general, not as a slight.” She was given a shake of his helmet and Y/N rolled her eyes, “Well, when you do go, why don’t you stop by his cell.” 

“You’re that confident I’ll get caught?” Y/N gave a sharp grin, “I’m confident your curiosity is something you listen to a lot.” She won’t fault him. It’d be hypocritical of her to do so, because Y/N was also curious to a dangerous extent. Gritting her teeth, Y/N gave Hood the stink eye, “My turn, what are your plans for Crime Alley?” When this vigilante first decided to show up, Y/N watched with careful trepidation. Crime Alley was Jason’s project, one he cared for and hounded Bruce on, and Y/N took it over when he passed. 

She paid weekly visits, kept a close eye on the police that patrolled there, and even made routine visits to the orphanages and foster homes. It’s just, the problems in Crime Alley are deeper than what she can publicly touch. It looks bad if Y/N, wife of Bruce Wayne and a ‘good’ citizen at that, started dealing with the drug trade. 

For a helmet that only had eyes, he was super expressive. The tensing of his shoulders and slight hitch in his breath was enough of a tell. Y/N set her mug down and began eating the watermelon in her bowl, her eyes never losing track of him. 

“I’m cleaning it up.” Y/N raised a brow, “If your plan is to kill all the gangs, then rethink and review it. You can’t get rid of crime.” 

“...I know. You can’t stop crime, you can only control it.” Y/N’s eyebrows lifted, and her chest tightened. She remembers having a similar conversation with Jason. One where she shared that one line. 

There are always going to be people doing terrible things, and no matter how many times you break their arms, femurs, or noses, it won’t ever stop someone else from taking their place. 

“Why… why did you let a new person take Robin?” Y/N blinked, and she paused in eating her fruit. So, this guy knows. She chewed on the words, her chest and shoulders heavy, but before she could say anything, he cut her off, “Please don’t lie.” 

Maybe it was the way he said it, but Y/N could hear the crack in his voice. Her brain was racking up reasons, and she was unable to come up with why. Why was he so upset about Robin? The words were stuck behind her teeth and her eyes were burning from unshed tears. 

“Why did you let there be a new Robin? Especially with what happened to the previous one?! Why are you letting there be more dead birds-” He cut himself off, and Y/N was staring at him with a heartbroken look. Her breaths were heavy and her limbs felt like lead. 

It’s his first time really seeing Y/N unraveled. 

“...who are you?” He was ready to bolt, and Y/N jumped for the gun under the coffee table, forgoing the bowl and her eyes watching as Red Hood stumbled and pulled his own gun out just as Y/N trained her gun on him. 

“No no, you don’t get to run. Who the hell are you? Why do you know about Robin?!” ‘Why are you bringing up my dead son?’ 

Both their hands were shaking, and Y/N could feel it in her bones that should she pull this trigger, she’ll regret it. She’ll regret it to the point that her soul will collapse and something will break. Taking a deep breath and going against her training, she set the gun on the coffee table and took a deep sigh. 

“...God I’m tired,” She whispered, and she began picking up the spilled watermelons and strawberries. Hood kept his gun out, but no longer was it pointed at her. 

Y/N took a deep breath, and let her body almost go limp, “I let there be a new Robin because if we didn’t accept him, he would have still gone out on those rooftops either way.” Timothy Drake was tenacious like that, bull headed just like Bruce. 

“At least this way he has the training and tools needed to defend himself.” 

“You’re sending another kid to fucking die!” 

“You don’t think I fucking know that?!” She snapped, all teeth and looking feral. Tears burned her eyes and her throat wanted to close, “You don’t think I know that I am setting myself up to bury another child? To see another broken small body, and know my involvement, or lack thereof, was the cause?” 

If only she trained Jason. If only she taught Jason. She thought that by not stepping in, she was saving him from staining his hands like her. Y/N believed that Bruce’s training would be enough because they weren’t going out there to kill. They were going out there to help and to save lives. 

Not take them. 

“I should’ve trained Jay,” She whispered, and the tears escaped once more. Y/N didn’t make the same mistake with Timothy like she did with Jason. Especially since Bruce didn’t show an ounce of care in properly training Timothy. At least not fairly. So she gave him a bo and taught him how to defend himself. She taught him how to disable bombs, and most importantly, she told him to always come back. Batman’s rules would be damned if he found himself in a position where his life was on the line. 

She should’ve been clearer with Jason. 

“What would you train him in?” Y/N huffed, a bitter smile on her lips, “Everything. I didn’t involve myself because I specialize in killing. Batman and my Jay didn’t do that. They saved lives, so what use would my teachings be?” 

She stared at a particularly bruised strawberry, and the red seeping out of it on the floor. 

“Now I wonder if it's because I didn't, that I have a part in him dying.” It weighed heavily on her, heavier than any other regret. It kept her up at night and disassociating at breakfast. Was her lack of involvement the reason he’s dead?

Could she have saved Jason by training him? Just a little bit. 

“You didn’t.” Y/N looked up with bleary eyes, and Hood had put his gun away and instead was reaching behind his helmet. 

“I promise, you didn’t have any part in my death.” Y/N choked on a sob and when the helmet was officially off, Y/N would recognize that face anywhere. Even behind the domino mask, or even older than he used to be. She’d recognize her son anywhere. 

“Hey Ma-” Her arms were wrapped around him, and they were both kneeling on the floor in the living room. The mug of wine forgotten, along with the bowl of fruits and weapons. Y/N sobbed into her son’s shoulder, her hands running through his hair, and her fingers checking his pulse just in case. 

He’s bigger than he used to be. Her son who haunted her for years was finally in her arms, and this time, Y/N had little intention of letting him go. 

End.

Notes:

*Russian for shithead. 

Taglists:

@Rosecentury 

@Problematicreblogger

@Kurai-hono-blog 

@Lunaluz432

@findingjaxx 

@interobanginyourmom

@hanz-176

“Me too, but we should get it over and done with eventually. Once we’re inside and not trapped inside this car for any longer, I’m sure we’ll feel better and not as cramped.”

“I could also use the bathroom.”

“I did give you the option of peeing behind a bush.”

“If you tell me to pee behind a bush one more time, you’ll have regrets.”

“What’re you going to do? Bury me behind a bush?”

“You’re too big to fit behind a bush.”

“Rude much?” Jason laughed. “Okay. I have a plan.”

“Do tell.”

“If you go open the front door and hold it open, I’ll go to the trunk and pull our suitcases out and bring them inside.”

“Sounds like a good plan. I’ll even try to find an outside light switch.”

Pulling the keys to the cabin out of his jacket pocket, Jason handed them over to Steph. Hearing her take a steadying breath, he watched her get out of the car and shriek as the rain drenched her within seconds. Keeping the headlights on until she had the front door open, Jason popped the trunk and got out.

Feeling the ice-cold water soak through his clothes within moments, he bit his tongue to stop himself from making a noise. Pulling the suitcases out, he got them halfway to the door before the outside light came on and Steph came out and helped him wrangle them inside.

Kicking his boots off by the door, they stood there dripping water onto the hardwood floors for a moment.

“Bathroom,” Jason said, pointing to the room to the left with the door open.

“Agreed.”

Making it to the bathroom as quickly as they could without slipping, the second they made it to the tiled floor, they stripped out of their wet clothing and dumped them into the bathtub.

Standing there in his underwear, Jason could feel the cold getting to him. Trying not to look at Steph to give her some privacy, Jason heard her teeth chattering.

“If you want to get into the shower, I’ll find us some towels,” he offered.

“Are you sure?” Steph asked, already moving to turn the water on.

“Of course.”

Exiting the bathroom but leaving the door open slightly, it didn’t take him long to find the linen closet. The cabin wasn’t big, and he had safehouses bigger than this place. Grabbing two towels, he went back to the bathroom and placed them on the counter.

“I come with towels.”

“Thank you. I won’t be long. I’m just trying to warm up. I’m going to make this shower hotter than the devil keeps Hell.”

Laughing at Steph’s comment, Jason left the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

“My grandfather, Doctor Timothy Hayward, is a real piece of shit. He used to be a doctor who worked with children. You’d think that would make him a good man but no. He was a behaviour specialist. He would basically torture children into submission and find drugs to control them and have them off their faces. I met him a few times a young child and he tried his techniques on me.” Stopping to breathe, Jason felt Steph rest a hand on his thigh.

“If he touches you, I’ll make him regret it,” Steph said, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“Thanks, Steph.” Slowing a little as the rain got heavier, Jason continued. “When he tried his electroshock therapy on me, he amped it up too much. I stopped breathing. I remember my lungs just stopping and feeling myself hit the ground. My step-grandmother got me breathing again but after that he tried other things, things I can’t remember. My memories are fuzzy, but all I know is my mom and dad never let him near me again after that. He was a bad man, and now Bruce thinks he’s perfected part of his control element and is trying to sell it to the highest bidder. If he does that, we’re fucked.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you. We will stop him, Jason. I promise you. I remember being a small kid and wondering what I’d do next to have a parent flip it at me enough for a beating, but what you went through, it sucked bad. No one deserves that.” Rubbing soothing circles against Jason’s leg, Steph felt him relax a little.

“I just want to make sure he is hurting no one like he did me. He would be almost eighty now, he won’t be able to move as quickly.”

“Easier for us to catch.”

“Yeah. Hopefully.”