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You guys I have something to be honest about. She I was freshly 18 I had started writing stories. Posting and what not. I would make fanfiction for Jason Todd, Arkham Knight, had a whole fanpage dedicated to him. It was good for a while but I also insecure at 18, so I deleted it all because I thought I wasn’t doing a good job. Obviously, I’m much older now, 24 in fact. I’m not the same insecure young adult. I’ve learned a lot. All of this to say, Jason never left me, he’s always been here but thing I just, couldn’t bring myself to post the stuff for the longest time. Today will be different though. Im going to start putting Jason back into my writing circle.
Head canon that inspired this fic, AK Jason Todd is a crash out. Through and through. Even in the games and comic books (which I am a proud owner of) it’s very much there. Anyway, enjoy the fic. This takes place during the Arkham knight game.
Heavy heart. Pure Hate.
Gloved hands tighten into white knuckles. Failure. Another failure for the night. Tonight was supposed to go better than this. Batman is supposed to die tonight. Batman is the one that is supposed to fail. Not him. Yet here he is…Arkham Knight, Jason Todd, having the second failure of the night.His chest tightens painfully, he wanted to cry, he felt the sting of the tears that threatened to spill over but, he can’t cry. He cried in that abandoned wing of Arkham Asylum for over a year. Time for crying is over, crying is not something he wants to do either, not something he wants to be seen doing, he defaults onto the only thing he knows anymore. The familiar claws of hate and anger dig deep into his chest. All that blackness that threatened to swallow him whole in his heart came to a boiling point. The room itself felt as if it tensed as he took a deep breath.
“AHHHH-”
A gut wrenching scream makes his voice modulator of his helmet crackle and choke sounding less than human as he screams out to the floor before the sound cuts out entirely leaving a muffled sound underneath. His body felt tight, coiled in such a way it was painfully uncomfortable. He could feel the buzzing all the way to his fingertips as his hands shook. Tension that desperately needed release. Jason ripped off his helmet, chucking it against the wall with another scream of rage. The helmet didn't crack, just smacks against the wall before hitting the floor and rolling to a stop somewhere. Not enough, not even close to being enough. His eyes catch the small wooden rectangular table with all the papers and files on it, whoosh, all the papers flutter in the air, files thud to the ground in one swoop. His hands grip the table before hauling the table up and smashing it back on the ground. He didn't feel any better, no relief. His anger turned inward. Anger at his plan going wrong, at least that's what he's convincing himself of.
No, the truth was much more complicated, he wanted to tear Batman apart, he wanted him gone, he wanted him to pay for leaving him to Joker. He wanted to hurt Batman. At the same time he wanted to scream, not at Batman, but the man beneath. Bruce. “Why weren't you there?!” Jason says aloud in the room, “Do you know how long I waited for you?! How long I begged for you to come save me?! You NEVER came! You LEFT me! You REPLACED me! YOU ABANDONED ME!” Jason roared, his voice breaking from all his screaming. “...Your own son.” He says quieter, voice rasped with a whine of hurt lacing his tone.
He waited a long time in that asylum, he waited to be saved, part of him thought maybe, just maybe, he can still be saved somehow even now. That's what he hated most. That he still believes in some small part of himself that he can be saved. That Bruce can save him. That feels wrong, its weakness at its finest. Jason's gloved fingers thread through his hair before he gives a hard tug, he's foolish for feeling that way. The temptation to just claw his own face is strong, to just feel something that he understands, pain. To feel control in some way that he doesn't feel with his emotions. Another angry yell pierces the otherwise quiet room.
Finally, Jason sinks to his knees, takes breath, wheezing from the burning in his throat. He squeezes and rubs his thighs to try and soothe the remaining tension that he felt in his body. Jason takes a moment to just sit in the silence that followed the outburst. There is only one way to end the weakness, to stop second guessing himself. Kill. Bruce. That will solve everything. The hurt, the confusion, the feeling of being lost and out of control. A slow breath, it's over. He’s done with his self loathing. Jason picks himself back up to his feet, silently he rights the turned over table with its new splintered crack that went at least a third of the way across the table. He leaves the papers and files. Snagging his helmet from the floor he walks to the computer. Plugging his helmet in he runs some diagnostics to check for the damage he knows he did. The voice modulator is busted. It can be fixed. Tonight is the night, Bruce dies and Jason is set free, he thinks to himself as he begins to unscrew the cover over the voice modulator on the helmet to start the repairs before he goes into phase three. Everything must be perfect.
