#hbwrites

And Jason couldn’t quite say that fucked over in ever conceivable way since birth was worth it, exactly, but… shit, every pile of thorns really does have its rose because Dick Grayson was there and Jason was with him, but more than that Jason was somebody. Not some street kid Dick would pass by on the street with a pitying glance and maybe a couple bucks, if Jason was lucky. Not some nobody with a dirty face and a too-sad past, but Robin. Robin. This was it, the moment that all the hours of being pounded into the dirt by Bruce in this stupid cave, the measurements and memorizations and failures and scoldings, all of it actually meant something now, because maybe he hadn’t actually gone out on the streets yet but he would and Dick would see that, and he would- he would- 

Jason puffed out his chest and took a step forwards, bravely sticking his hand out to shake. “Grayson,” he said gruffly, hoping his voice sounded appropriately masculine and intimidating. 

Dick’s face did a funny thing. It was slack, for a moment, stunned, before it contorted like someone crumpling up a paper ball. This was probably not a good sign. 

“Who the fuck,” Dick snarled, his teeth flashing white as he puffed up defensively, “are you?”

~~

So that sucked. 

The context that Bruce had ripped Dick’s costume, identity, and mother’s nickname away from him and slapped it onto a new kid like they were playing musical chairs did sort of explain why Dick’s first reaction to him had been one of violent, acrid displeasure. This did not make Jason feel better, or any less like a stupid kid who had been caught playing dress up in clothes that didn’t fit. His ego was bruised, so sue him. 

And yeah. That sucked. But the deal was, most things sucked. Like, all of the time. Things sucked a lot and all of the time, so much so that after Dick and Bruce were done having their batshit crazy screaming fight and Dick had stormed back to his little hovel in where-ever-the-fuck, Jason just figured that was that. Goodbye, Dick Grayson. Dick would be gone and Jason would start being Robin for real and he would do an excellent job and be super cool and not even need anybody to think so, thank you very much. Because he would do it for the mission. And the people. Not some beautiful, strong, amazing guy who was much older and definitely out of his league and also hated him, apparently, so it was a dead end even ignoring all the “out of his league” stuff. Fuck. Shit. 

But actually, this would turn out to be the first of many, many times that Dick Grayson would end up surprising Jason Todd, because that was not the end of things. Believe it or not, it was more like the beginning. 

"kisses for your brain love" Harry gleefully coos over him.

Tom remembers how often Harry would say that to him. When late sleepless nights of studying and planning brought expected and unexpected headaches. Harry would somehow just know and already hold out a potion or have a spell ready. A sweet peck to his hair, a gentle hand on his shoulder, and tender touch always accompanying. Did He always say his brain? For some unfathomable reason, rather than his head?

Now, Toms mind races. Who would have guessed, who would have spotted the cracks. Even now he can't spot a lie in Harry's eyes. Harry loves him.

Harry's lips glisten a frankly seductive red. They trail all over his face, his neck.

Tom's brain is alarmingly useless now, no ideas come forth, he can't even think about moving any part of his body.

Blood begins to drip down his forehead, slowly at first. He's so disconnected from his body that it takes a while for Tom to notice. Too long, it drips into his eyes that he can barely blink and clogs his ears, losing his senses in a long grueling battle.

A red blindfold.

Worse is that he can't feel the panic or rage. Logically, it's there. Instead he is as numb and cold as death.

All he can feel is Harry's touch. Gentle, probing, and warm as it always was. It's Harry's magic that is like nothing he's ever felt before. A massive pressure squeezing him all around, pulsing to a heartbeat he's not sure is his or Harrys. Loosening and tightening in quick succession. How did he hide this much power?

Is he even breathing, Tom wonders or is the magic breathing for him.

Tom sort of feels it at the same he hears it. He can't bear to let his eye close. He instead watches pieces of hair, the drip and splatter of his life across his body.

And then another voice pierces through the fog, the pressing silence that was all around his and Harry's bubble. The cacophony of sounds from his head.

Tom has no clue what was said, but he knows that voice all the same. If he could just think-

Harry stops, and and the noises stop, and Harry angles his head in the speakers direction. Harry's eyes never leave Tom's. And there. A crack.

"Tom, you truly possessed a brilliant mind."