#dc titans

“Tradition, tradition, tradition!” Joker sang, spinning the rusted metal like a baton. He tapped it against your legs, your ribs, the chair.

“Did you know your darling Jaybird and I had a dance once? Ohhh, it was beautiful. I hit him, he screamed, I laughed, he bled. Like music. And when I was done—well, let’s just say he had a little nap. Six feet under, HAHAHAHHA!”

The first strike cracked against your ribs, knocking the air from your chest. You bit down against the scream, but the gag muffled it anyway. Another strike followed, then another. Pain flared white-hot, flooding every nerve.

Joker crouched in front of you, tilting his head like a curious child.

“Hmm. Strong one, aren’t you? I see what he likes. Oh, Jason always did have a thing for the stubborn ones. But stubborn breaks. Everything breaks.”

He pulled the gag loose just long enough to force words into your ears.

“Tell me, do you think he’ll come for you? Or do you think he’ll hesitate? Mmmm, I bet he’s terrified, isn’t he? You remind him of everything he couldn’t save. His mommy, his daddy, his little self. And when he sees you broken—oh, he’ll hate himself more than he hates me. And that is the joke.”

Then he went to work again, slashes of a knife across your arms, shallow enough to sting, to bleed, to paint. He laughed with each line, each drop. He wanted you alive. He wanted Jason to see.

Jason knew the second something was wrong. You hadn’t answered your phone. Not once, not twice, not after three calls. He told himself you were asleep, that you’d forgotten to text. But the itch at the back of his skull wouldn’t let him rest.

By the time he checked the alley near your route home and found your dropped keys, his heart was already in his throat.

“Bruce—he’s got her. It’s him.” His voice was gravel over the comm.

“Jason—”

“Don’t say it. I know it’s Joker. I’m not waiting.”

And he didn’t. Not for orders, not for backup.

Back in the funhouse, Joker leaned against the wall, crowbar still dripping faintly.

“You know what I love about Jason?” he purred. “He’s predictable. Punch first, brood later. Oh, he’ll storm in here, guns blazing, eyes blazing. But when he sees this—” he gestured to your bloodied body, “—ohhh, it’ll be just like old times. I’ll watch his face crack. That’s the real masterpiece. Death is boring. Suffering? That’s art.”

He crouched, forcing your chin up with the crowbar’s tip. His green eyes glittered, mad and bright.

“Don’t worry, darling. You’re not going to die. Not yet. You’re just the punchline.”

Joker was a conductor, and you were his broken instrument. He paced around you, humming a carnival tune off-key, twirling a crowbar sticky with dried blood and your fresh one.

The torture didn't stop.

Joker cackled, planting the crowbar against your shoulder with mock tenderness before yanking it away and cracking it against your shin. Pain ricocheted through your body; your scream ripped raw from your throat. Joker laughed, doubling over like it was the best joke he’d ever heard.

“He cares. Isn’t that hilarious? A Bat who actually lets people in. The others brood and sulk, but Jason? Oh, he opens his door, he lets someone close, he loves. That’s his big mistake! See, love makes you weak. And weakness—” he dragged the crowbar slowly up your arm, leaving a smear of red, “—is my favorite color.”

He shoved a camera in your face, a cheap handheld camcorder duct-taped together, blinking red. He crouched, grinning too wide, and spoke directly to the lens.

“Smile, sweetheart Say cheese! This is going straight to your boyfriend. Let’s see if he laughs as hard as I do.”

Jason hadn’t slept. His helmet sat discarded on the Batcomputer console, his hair sticking damp to his forehead as he leaned over the screen. His fists were bloody from punching walls, his throat raw from shouting at empty air.

“Where the hell is he?!” Jason’s voice cracked, fury and panic blurring.

“We’re tracking what we can" Oracle’s calm voice filtered through the comm, her fingers racing across keys. “He wiped out half the traffic cams in Old Gotham—”

“Because he’s there! He’s in the goddamn amusement district, I know it!” Jason slammed a hand on the desk. His whole body trembled.

Bruce stood behind him, silent, grim.

“Jason,” he said at last, low and heavy. “We will find her. But if you go in blind—”

“I don’t care! She’s out there with him!” Jason whirled, his eyes bloodshot, his chest heaving. “Do you get it, Bruce? It’s happening again! He’s doing it again—and it’s my fault. If I’d been there—” His voice broke. He gritted his teeth hard enough to taste copper.

Before Bruce could answer, a sharp buzz hit the comm line.

Every monitor in the cave flickered.

Static bloomed, then resolved into a grainy video feed: you, bound to the chair in the funhouse, blood soaking your shirt, your face scraped.

Jason froze. His lungs stopped working.

Joker’s painted face leaned into frame, far too close, his grin splitting wide.

“Helloooo, Bats and birdies! Guess who I found wandering all alone? Oh, don’t look so cross, she’s been excellent company! Well—screaming company, but I like variety.”

He yanked your head up by the hair, forcing your face toward the camera.

“Say hi to Jaybird, sugarplum. He’s watching. Ohhh, look at those eyes. He looks like he might cry.”

Jason staggered back a step, his chest caving in. His hands curled into claws.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Jason-” Bruce’s voice cut sharp.

“Don’t you—don’t you dare tell me not to! Look at her!” Jason jabbed at the screen, his voice shattering into a raw scream. “LOOK WHAT HE’S DOING!”

On screen, Joker tapped your face with the crowbar, leaving a streak of blood.

“You know what’s great about déjà vu? It never gets old! Last time, it was poor little Robin, and Batsy never made it in time. Ohhh, but this time—it’s even juicier. Because now Jason gets to watch! Isn’t that poetic?”

He raised the crowbar high. The camera caught the brutal swing as it smashed into your side. Your scream echoed through the cave speakers. Jason flinched like he’d been shot, a strangled noise tearing from his throat.

Joker bent down, breathing heavy with excitement.

“Oopsie! Did that hurt, darling? Don’t worry. I’m saving the grand finale for when your lover boy arrives. I want him to see your last smile.”

The feed cut to static.

Jason stood rooted, his whole body shaking, every vein alive with rage and guilt. His vision blurred red.

“I swear to God—” His voice was a rasp, broken glass and smoke. He grabbed his helmet, slamming it down over his head. “If he kills her, it’s on me. I’m not letting it happen again. I’ll put a bullet in his brain, I don’t care what you say.”

Bruce moved into his path, stern, immovable.

“Killing him won’t save her.”

“It’ll be justice!” Jason roared, shoving Bruce back, chest heaving. “You didn’t stop him then, and you’re not stopping me now! She’s all I’ve got, Bruce! She’s all I’ve fucking got!”

For a second, the cave was silent but for Jason’s ragged breathing.

Then Alfred’s voice, soft, steady, but cutting deep:

“And what will she wake to, Master Jason, if she survives, and the man she loves has become what that monster always wanted him to be?”

Jason froze, helmet tilted down, his shoulders trembling. His voice came out small, broken.

“I can’t lose her. Not like that. Not like me.”

Back in the funhouse, Joker set the camera down, angling it perfectly to catch every angle of your pain. He paced in front of you, manic energy vibrating through every twitch of his body.

“You know, sweetheart, I almost feel bad for you. Almost! Because deep down, you know it, don’t you? He’s broken. He’s not like the others. He’ll never forgive himself for this. And that guilt, mmm, that’s better than blood.”

He slammed the crowbar across your back. You cried out, the sound tearing from you before you could stop it. Joker clapped like a delighted child.

“Ahhh, music to my ears! Don’t worry, lovebird. Jason’s on his way. He always is. And when he comes, I’ll give him the same choice I gave Batsy once upon a time. Save the girl—or catch the clown. Either way…” He leaned in, whispering against your ear, his breath rancid. “You die laughing.”

Jason’s helmet fed him the faint buzz of Oracle’s voice through the comm, tinny, urgent, cutting through the static of his panic. “Jason—I found it. He’s in the old Monarch Theater. Heat signatures confirm—at least two. One’s moving, the other’s… barely.”

Barely.

The word shredded him. Jason didn’t even respond; he was already vaulting across the Gotham rooftops, heart hammering in his throat. The Monarch.

Of course it was the Monarch. Joker loved irony, loved stages, loved memories soaked in blood. Jason hit the pavement hard, boots skidding against wet asphalt as he tore down the block, every muscle wired, every breath jagged and sharp.

He pushed through the shattered double doors and the theater swallowed him whole—dark, hollow, dust clinging to the air. Somewhere in the back, a faint metallic clink echoed. The smell hit him before the sight did—iron, copper, blood. Too much blood.

“Please be alive” his voice cracked inside the helmet, though he wasn’t speaking to anyone.

He followed the sound down into the funhouse maze Joker had built in the theater’s bowels. Mirrors warped his reflection into grotesque shapes, laughter tracks from a busted speaker looped and warped into static. Jason ripped his helmet off, couldn’t stand the distortion. He needed to see with his own eyes.

And then he did.

You were slumped in the chair, arms bound to rusted metal, face a mess of bruises and blood, your lips cracked and trembling with shallow breath. Your chest rose—barely—but it rose. Jason’s knees buckled so hard he stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the frame. His chest felt like it had been hollowed out with a crowbar.

“Fuck—fuck” his voice came out strangled as he sprinted forward, dropping to his knees in front of you. His gloves shook so bad he could barely untie the ropes cutting into your wrists.

“Baby, hey, hey—it’s me, it’s me, you’re okay, I got you, I got you…” He pressed his forehead against your shoulder for half a second, just long enough to ground himself before he forced his shaking hands to keep working.

You made a sound then—soft, broken, a whimper of his name that hit him harder than any bullet ever could.

Jason’s throat closed, eyes burning, tears stinging hot behind his lashes. He cupped your face gently, terrified of hurting you, but needing you to know. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here, I swear to god, I’m not leaving you with that fucking clown. I should’ve been here sooner—I should’ve—fuck, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

He got the last rope free and you collapsed forward into his chest. He caught you instantly, holding you so tight his arms ached, but still terrified you’d slip away if he let go even for a second. Your blood soaked through his suit, warm and wet against his skin. His breath hitched, ragged, desperate, pressing shaky kisses against your hair, your temple, whispering like a prayer: “Stay with me, please stay. Don’t do this, don’t leave me, I can’t—I can’t lose you too.”

From the shadows, a faint echo of laughter drifted, bouncing through the funhouse walls. Joker was gone. Of course he was. The bastard had staged it perfectly—left just enough life in you for Jason to find, just enough pain to make the memory sear. Jason’s head snapped toward the sound, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Every cell in his body screamed at him to hunt Joker down, to put a bullet in his skull and watch the blood spill.

But then your fingers twitched weakly against his chest, clutching his suit with what little strength you had. Jason froze, then grabbed your hand, pressing it to his lips.

The rage burned, white-hot, begging to be unleashed, but he forced it down, swallowed it whole.

You came first. Only you.

“Okay. Okay, I’ve got you.” His voice cracked again, rough and broken but steady enough to hold onto. He slid one arm beneath your knees, the other bracing your back, lifting you gently but quickly into his arms. You were so light it terrified him. Too light. His vision blurred as he looked down at you, your head lolling weakly against his chest. “Fuck, you’re gonna be okay, you hear me? Don’t you fucking quit on me.”

He bolted out of the funhouse, through the ruined theater, his boots pounding the cracked floor. He didn’t care about stealth, didn’t care about backup, didn’t care about Joker’s games. All that mattered was getting you out.

The night air hit his face as he crashed through the doors, sprinting across the empty street. He fumbled with the comm in his ear, his voice breaking. “Oracle—I’ve got her—I’ve got her but she’s bad, she’s real bad, call in a fucking ambulance right now, do you hear me? Now!”

“Jason—” Oracle’s voice cut in, controlled but urgent.

“Don’t fucking argue, Babs, I need a med team here and now!” His voice cracked into a sob on the last word, his throat raw. He ducked into the alley, your body trembling faintly in his arms.

He lowered his head, whispering against your ear, every word ragged, desperate: “Just hang on, baby, please, don’t you dare leave me. You’re stronger than this, you’ve always been stronger. Just a little longer, okay? Stay with me. For me.”

Your lips moved weakly, whispering his name again, almost inaudible. Jason’s whole body shook, and he pressed his face against your hair, choking out a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all. “That’s it. That’s it, I’m right here. I’ve got you. I’m not letting go.”

The faint wail of sirens grew in the distance. Jason held you tighter, rocking you slightly, his whole body a shield. He could still hear Joker’s laughter in the back of his skull, still feel the phantom weight of the crowbar, but it didn’t matter. Not now. Joker could live another night. Because right now, the only thing that mattered was keeping you breathing.

Jason burst through the ER doors like a storm, boots squealing on the tiles, your limp form cradled tight against him. Nurses and orderlies gasped, rushing forward, their hands reaching, their voices sharp and professional. Oracle had called a trusted medical team, people Bruce had learnt to trust.

“We need to take her—”

“No! No, don’t touch her!” Jason barked, clutching you tighter, panic flashing behind his eyes. His voice cracked, wild. “She needs me—she needs—”

A doctor met his eyes squarely, firm but not unkind. “If you want her to live, you have to let go. Right now.”

Jason froze. Every muscle in his body locked, screaming against the order, but the sight of your blood dripping onto the sterile floor broke him. His breath hitched, his arms trembling violently as he slowly, so slowly, eased you into the stretcher. His hands lingered, desperate, fingers tracing your cheek one last time before the nurses whisked you away. He staggered forward a step, but they blocked him, pulling him back. The doors slammed shut with a brutal finality, leaving him staring at the small window, your form already swallowed by white coats and machines.

And then the silence.

Jason’s chest heaved, his bloodied hands hovering uselessly in the air. Without you in them, he felt like he was collapsing inward. He dropped to his knees on the polished tile, his helmet clattering to the ground beside him. His hands shook uncontrollably, smearing red across his face as he dragged them through his hair.

“Fuck—fuck, this is my fault—” his voice cracked, raw and jagged, bouncing off the sterile walls. “I should’ve been there, I should’ve known—he took her because of me, because of me!”

“Jason.”

The voice was steady, familiar. Jason looked up through blurred vision to see Dick standing there, already crouching beside him. Behind him, Tim, Barbara, Damian, and Bruce hovered like shadows, their faces drawn tight with worry.

Jason’s whole body shook with anger and grief. He shoved Dick’s hand off his shoulder. “Don’t—don’t fucking comfort me. You saw her—did you see what he did to her? That’s on me! I let her walk home alone, I let her—” His voice broke again, ragged. “I swore I’d never let that bastard take someone from me again. And now—”

Bruce stepped forward, his voice low, even, but heavier than steel. “Jason. This is not your fault.”

Jason’s laugh was sharp, ugly, broken.

“Not my fault? He only went after her because of me! Because she matters to me! Don’t you get it? Joker doesn’t give a shit about her—she’s just another way to get at me. And I handed him the knife.” He slammed his fist into the wall beside him, the sound echoing. Blood smeared across the tile. His forehead pressed against the wall, shoulders trembling. “I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.”

“Then she’d be here alone” Dick’s voice was soft but firm, cutting through Jason’s spiral. He crouched closer, his hand hovering just above Jason’s back like he wanted to ground him but wasn’t sure he’d be allowed. “You got her out. She’s alive because of you. That’s the only reason she’s still breathing in there.”

Jason’s breath caught, a sob tearing through his chest before he could choke it down. He buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled, broken.

“She was so fucking cold, Dick. She could barely say my name. I thought—” His throat closed, his body curling forward, folding in on itself. “I thought I was gonna lose her right there in my arms”

Tim, hovering just behind, shifted uncomfortably, his voice quieter than usual but clear. “She’s in surgery. She’s in the best hands in the city. They’ll do everything they can.”

Jason snapped his head up, his eyes bloodshot, wild. “That’s not good enough! You didn’t see her—you didn’t hear her! She was begging—” His voice broke off, collapsing into another sob. He dragged both hands down his face, streaking blood and tears across his skin. “I can’t do this again. I can’t bury another person I love because of him.”

Barbara’s voice cut in from behind, calm but steady like steel wrapped in velvet. “You’re not alone, Jason. You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

Jason shook his head violently, his hands tugging at his hair. “Yes I do! Because it’s always me, Babs! It’s always my fuck-ups that get people hurt. She’s lying on that table right now because I wasn’t there, because I let my guard down. What if she doesn’t—” His voice cracked again, breaking into silence. He pressed his back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled tight to his chest.

For once, Damian broke the silence, his tone sharp but not cruel. “She is strong. Stronger than most. If she chooses to fight, she will win.” His eyes narrowed at Jason. “But she will not forgive you if you give up on her now.”

Jason blinked at him, startled. The words dug under his skin, raw and sharp, because he knew Damian was right. He let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob, burying his face in his arms.

Bruce moved closer, crouching so he was eye-level with Jason. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “You can’t carry this blame, Jason. Joker chose this. Not you.”

Jason’s head snapped up, his eyes burning with unshed tears, his jaw clenched. “Then why does it feel exactly like it did when you left me there?!” The words exploded out of him, venom and grief intertwined. The room went still. Jason’s chest heaved, his eyes wide, like he hadn’t meant to say it but couldn’t stop it. His voice cracked, smaller now, breaking apart. “It feels the same. Cold. Helpless. Like I was too late.”

The silence stretched heavy.

Then Dick finally sat down beside him, shoulder pressing firmly against Jason’s, grounding him without asking permission. “But this time’s different,” Dick said quietly. “This time, you got there in time”

Jason didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He just let the tears spill, silent and raw, his body shaking as he pressed his bloodied hands to his face. And for once, he didn’t fight them when Dick stayed by his side, when Tim lingered close, when Barbara’s presence steadied the air, when Damian’s quiet stare held no judgment, only truth, and when Bruce remained crouched, silent, unmovable, like the anchor Jason had spent his whole life both needing and resenting.

The waiting room was too bright, too clean. Every second the fluorescent lights hummed above him felt like another nail driving into his skull. Jason paced like a caged animal, his boots pounding a restless rhythm against the tile. Every so often, his bloodstained hands curled into fists until his knuckles whitened. The others sat scattered across the room — Dick with his elbows on his knees, Tim cross-legged in a chair with his phone forgotten in his hands, Barbara leaning against the wall, Damian stiff and silent in the corner. Bruce hadn’t moved from where he stood, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the swinging double doors that led deeper into the ER.

Hours. Hours since they’d taken you from him. Hours since the last time he saw you, broken and bleeding, whispering his name like it was your last breath.

Every time he blinked, he saw it again.

The bruises. The blood. The way your body had felt so light in his arms, terrifyingly light.

Jason slammed his hand against the vending machine, the crash echoing through the sterile space. “What the fuck is taking so long?!” His voice cracked, raw with panic. “They’ve had her in there for hours — what if she doesn’t—”

“Jason.” Dick’s voice was steady, but Jason caught the tightness behind it. “They’re doing everything they can.”

Jason spun on him, eyes wild. “Yeah? And what if it’s not enough, huh? What if I walked in there too late? What if all I did was give her a couple more hours of pain before she dies in a fucking hospital bed?!” His voice shattered at the end, a raw sound caught between a sob and a scream.

The room went still. Even Damian’s sharp tongue stayed quiet.

Jason dragged both hands down his face, streaking dried blood across his skin. His chest heaved like he couldn’t catch air. “God, I can’t—” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I can’t lose her. Not again. Not like this. Not because of him.”

Barbara’s voice was calm, firm, cutting through the storm. “Jason, listen to me. She’s strong. She made it this far. That’s because of you.”

Jason laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

“Because of me? No, Babs, she’s in there because of me. She’s bleeding out on some fucking table right now because I was stupid enough to think I could have something normal. Something good.” He dropped into the chair beside him, elbows braced on his knees, head hanging low. His voice cracked again, small, broken. “She’s paying the price for loving me.”

Bruce finally spoke, his voice low, steady, and heavy with something Jason didn’t want to name. “That’s not true.”

Jason snapped his head up, his eyes burning. “Yes it is! Don’t you get it, Bruce? Everyone close to me gets hurt. Everyone. And now she’s—” His voice strangled off. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders trembling. “I swore I’d protect her. That’s all I had to do. And I fucking failed.”

For once, Tim’s voice broke the silence, quieter than usual but clear. “You didn’t fail. You got her out. She’s alive because of you.”

Jason looked up at him, eyes wet, voice hoarse. “For how long, Tim? How long before she realizes being with me is just a fucking death sentence?”

The words hung heavy in the air. Nobody answered.

Hours dragged on. Jason refused to sit still, pacing until Dick finally grabbed his arm. Jason yanked away, but Dick held firm. “She’s fighting in there. Don’t you dare give up on her out here.”

Jason’s jaw clenched, his throat tight. He pressed his palm to his face, swiping away tears angrily. “I’m not giving up on her. I’m giving up on me. Don’t you get it? I can’t be near her anymore. I can’t—if she wakes up and I’m still there, what’s stopping him from trying again? He knows. He knows she’s my weak spot now. He’ll never stop.” His voice cracked. “And she’ll never be safe.”

Dick shook his head, his voice sharp but full of something almost pleading. “Don’t do that. Don’t you put this on yourself and walk away. She loves you, Jason. That’s not weakness. That’s the only thing keeping you human.”

Jason’s laugh was hollow, painful. He slumped back against the wall, sliding down until he was on the floor, head tipped back, staring at the ceiling like he was begging it for answers. His voice was raw, a rasp. “Love is what Joker feeds on. It’s what he rips apart. And I gave him the perfect fucking target.” His breath hitched. “I should’ve killed him when I had the chance. I should’ve—” His voice broke, tears slipping silently down his face. “But I didn’t. And she’s paying for it.”

The double doors finally swung open. A doctor stepped out, pulling down his mask. Every head in the room snapped toward him.

Jason was on his feet instantly, stumbling forward like his legs barely worked. “Is she—?” His voice cracked hard. “Is she alive?”

The doctor’s gaze softened. “She’s alive. She lost a lot of blood. Multiple fractures, significant internal injuries. But she made it through the surgery. She’s stable for now.”

Jason’s chest collapsed, the air rushing out of him in a broken sob. He grabbed the edge of the nurse’s desk to stay upright, his head bowed, shoulders shaking with relief and grief all tangled together. His voice came out small, wrecked. “Thank God… thank God…”

But then the doctor continued, gentle but firm. “She’s in a medically induced coma. We need to give her body time to heal. It could be hours, or days. There are no guarantees.”

Jason’s head snapped up, his face streaked with tears.

“A coma?” His voice rose, cracking. “You mean she’s—she’s not—” He couldn’t finish. His body folded in on itself again, both hands gripping the back of his neck as he staggered away from the group, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I almost lost her. I almost fucking lost her.”

Bruce reached for him, but Jason shoved past, pacing hard, his boots squealing against the floor. “Don’t you see? This is exactly what I’m talking about! She’s in a coma because of me! Because she let me love her!” He pressed both hands against the wall, head bowed, tears dripping onto the tile. “I can’t—I can’t stay near her. If she wakes up and sees me, all she’s gonna see is pain. All she’s gonna see is what Joker did to her because of me.”

Dick stepped closer, his voice low, tight. “And what do you think she’ll see if she wakes up and you’re not there? You think she won’t notice? She fought to stay alive because of you, Jason. Because she wanted to see you again. Don’t you dare take that away from her.”

Jason froze, his back to the group, every muscle strung tight. His breath came in ragged, uneven bursts.

Finally, his voice cracked out, soft, desperate. “What if she doesn’t wake up at all?”

The silence was deafening. Nobody had an answer.

Jason’s hands pressed harder into the wall, his forehead against the cold surface. His voice was barely audible, but the words cut deep. “I can’t lose her. I’ll break if I do. I don’t come back from that.”

And in that sterile hospital hallway, with his family behind him and you fighting for your life behind closed doors, Jason Todd: bloody, guilty, terrified, felt the walls closing in. He loved you so much it was killing him, and all he could see was the cruel possibility that Joker had already won.

The room was sterile white, filled with the low hum of machines and the quiet beeps that measured life in tiny intervals. You had been under for hours, you had no idea how many, fighting a battle no one could help you with but yourself. The surgeries had been long and brutal; Joker hadn’t left much of you untouched.

Jason had spent that entire time pacing hallways like a caged animal, fists raw from punching concrete walls, refusing food, refusing rest. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice hoarse from yelling at doctors every time they told him to “be patient.”

But when you finally stirred, eyelids fluttering open with painful effort, you weren't met with Jason.

Barbara sat by your side, Oracle having stationed herself in the chair since the first surgery ended, her hand wrapped gently around your bruised one. Even if Jason was scared about you seeing him, he had to know you were okay, he thought it was better like that but no one believed it.

Her voice was soft, almost motherly, when she leaned forward.

“Hey… hey, easy. You’re safe. You’re in Gotham General.”

Your throat was too dry to speak much. Every movement was agony, your ribs protesting, the bandages tight, IV lines tugging at your arms. But you managed a breath, a whisper that was barely audible.

“…Jason?”

Barbara’s heart clenched. She had expected it, she knew Jason’s name would be the first word, maybe the only one, on her lips. Babs stroked your hand carefully, keeping her voice calm even though she was already turning toward the door in her mind.

“He’s here. He’s been here the whole time. I’ll get him.”

Out in the hallway, Jason was sitting on the floor against the wall, head buried in his hands, staring blankly at his boots like they held the answers to every mistake he’d ever made. Bruce stood nearby, stoic but tense, while Dick leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, watching Jason carefully. Tim sat beside him with a cup of coffee he hadn’t touched. Damian was perched further down, silent as ever, though his sharp eyes never left Jason’s broken posture.

When Barbara stepped into the hall, Jason’s head snapped up instantly.

“She’s awake” Barbara said, voice firm but warm. “And she asked for you.”

Jason froze. For a split second, he looked like someone had just gutted him again: disbelief and fear flooding his features all at once.

“She… what?” His voice cracked, rough from hours of silence.

“She wants to see you, Jason”

He was on his feet before the sentence ended, his heart hammering like it was trying to break his ribs apart. But something stopped him in his tracks, his own damn guilt. He hovered, fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight.

“She shouldn’t” he muttered, shaking his head, voice harsh to cover the break in it. “She shouldn’t want me. Look what happened because of me. Joker knew. He knew I’d lose it if he touched her. He went after her because of me.”

“Jason,” Barbara cut in, firm now. “She asked for you. That’s all that matters right now.”

Bruce’s deep voice followed, calm but weighted. “Go”

Jason looked up at him, almost as if searching for an excuse to be told no. But Bruce just held his gaze, silent, steady, like he always did when the lesson was obvious.

Jason swallowed hard, turned, and shoved through the door.

The moment he stepped into the room, the machines seemed too loud, the air too heavy. He hadn’t seen you conscious since Joker had taken you. Seeing you like this, pale, battered, but alive, nearly knocked the air out of his lungs.

You turned your head weakly, eyes struggling to focus, but when they landed on him, your lips curled just slightly.

“…hey” you rasped.

Jason froze halfway between the door and her bed, his throat burning, his chest tight. He looked like he might fall apart just standing there.

“Jesus Christ…” His voice cracked, and he moved forward, slow like you might vanish if he rushed. He took the chair Barbara had left and dropped into it, his big frame hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands shaking when he finally reached out and brushed your fingers carefully.

“You shouldn’t…” His jaw clenched, eyes wet. “You shouldn’t be asking for me. You should be telling me to get the fuck out. That I ruined your life. That I dragged you into my shit and nearly got you killed.”

Your weak fingers squeezed his, barely there, but enough to shut him up. Your voice was quiet, raw.

“...you’re the only one I want here”

Jason sucked in a shaky breath, eyes squeezing shut as he ducked his head to hide it. A tear slipped down anyway, dripping onto the sheets. His other hand came up to cover yours, holding you so gently it looked like he was afraid you might break apart under his touch.

“God, sweetheart…” His voice cracked again, lower now, full of the weight he couldn’t hide anymore. “I thought I lost you. You don’t know—fuck—you don’t know what that did to me.”

You tried to smile again, weak and pained, but soft. “..guess I’m too stubborn to let him win”

Jason let out a wet laugh that was half a sob, bowing his head until his forehead rested lightly against the back of your bandaged hand.

“I’m so sorry” he whispered, voice breaking open now, raw and desperate. “I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve known. I swore I’d never let him touch anyone I—” He cut himself off, chest shaking, before forcing it out. “Anyone I love. And he still got to you.”

Your eyes, heavy but clear, stayed on him. Your whisper was almost nothing, but it carried enough to stop him in his spiral.

“…i love you too.”

Jason’s breath hitched, and for the first time in what felt like forever, something other than guilt cracked through his chest. His shoulders shook as silent tears ran down his face, his hand trembling as he brushed his thumb across yours.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, his voice trembling hard. “You’re it for me. You’re all I’ve got. If I lost you, there’s nothing left. Nothing. And I can’t—” His voice broke into silence, the words strangled in his throat.

You gave the faintest smile, eyes barely able to stay open. “..but you didn’t lose me.”

Jason leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your bandaged hand, clinging to you like a lifeline. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again. Not for a second. He’ll never—never—touch you again. I swear it.”

The fluorescent lights in the hospital wing hummed faintly, the only sound was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.

Jason hadn’t moved from your bedside since the moment the doctors had allowed him to see you.

He was still in his gear, helmet discarded on the floor, chest armor peeled off with shaking hands hours ago, but the rest of him was a mess: blood on his gloves that wasn’t his, bruises spreading purple along his knuckles from punching every damin wall in the hospital.

But he wouldn’t leave. Not even for a second.

You had fallen asleep again, weak and still fragile after the surgeries that had stretched through the night. Jason sat slouched in the chair beside your bed, his head leaning close to your arm, one of his large hands wrapped around your smaller one like if he loosened his grip you might slip away again. Every time the heart monitor beeped too slow, his whole body tensed.

Every time you stirred, he was instantly awake, whispering to you in that low, rough voice that cracked with things he’d never admit aloud.

Sometime near dawn, your fingers shifted in his palm, brushing weakly against his skin. Jason’s bloodshot eyes flicked open. You whispered his name, and he bent closer, forehead pressed briefly against your knuckles.

“I’m right here, sweetheart” he rasped, voice hoarse from hours of silence and swallowed sobs. “Not going anywhere. You scared the shit outta me, y’know that?” His thumb brushed over your bandaged knuckles gently, careful not to hurt you. “But you’re tough. Always were.”

Your lips curved faintly, too weak to laugh, but the intention was there. And Jason, who’d been a storm of violence and fury for days, melted instantly, his whole body curving in to shield her from everything—even the memory of Joker.

It was well past sunrise when exhaustion finally overtook him. Still holding your hand, Jason’s head dropped onto the thin mattress at your side, eyes sliding shut. The chair creaked under his weight, but he didn’t move, and soon he was asleep, his cheek resting against the blanket where your arm lay.

You woke first the next morning. The sun filtered pale through the blinds, spilling across Jason’s broad shoulders where he was hunched uncomfortably in the chair, his hand still clasped around yours even in sleep.

You turned your head slowly, every muscle aching, and just looked at him for a long moment. His dark hair was mussed, face slack in sleep but still tense around the edges, like even unconscious he was bracing himself for another fight.

The sound of the door opening drew your attention. Bruce stepped inside, his presence filling the room instantly. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood at the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind his back, his face unreadable as he took in the scene: Jason slumped in the chair, you awake and watching silently.

Finally, Bruce’s gaze shifted to you. His deep voice was quiet but firm, carrying weight that made her throat tighten.

“I’m glad you’re still with us” he said simply. It wasn’t flowery, not warm in the way someone else might have phrased it—but it was Bruce. Which meant it was heavy with meaning. Relief. Gratitude. Even guilt.

You nodded faintly, too weak to respond, but your eyes softened. Bruce’s jaw tightened, and after a pause he stepped closer, resting one gloved hand carefully on the railing of the bed. “You’ve been through enough. Focus on healing. We’ll handle the rest.”

It was his way of promising you that you didn’t need to carry the weight alone, that he wouldn’t let Jason shoulder it alone, either.

Your eyes flicked down to Jason, still asleep and refusing to let go of your hand. Bruce followed your gaze, and something softened in his expression. His voice dropped, almost to a whisper.

“He hasn’t left your side.”

Your lips curved faintly, your heart monitor beeping a little faster. You knew. You had felt it in every brush of his thumb against your skin, in every whispered word through the haze of pain.

Bruce lingered a moment longer, silent in the way only he could be, communicating volumes without saying anything at all, before stepping back.

“Rest,” he said finally, and turned toward the door. But before leaving, he paused, his eyes on Jason again. “He needs this as much as you do.”

And then Bruce was gone, the door hissing shut softly behind him, leaving you in the quiet once more. You turned your head back toward Jason, watching him sleep, and though your body hurt, there was a deep calm in her chest now.