beautiful, beautiful

“No,” Robin shakes his head, arms crossed over his chest. “No fuckin’ way, Batman.”

He gives you a once over, looking you up and down while his lips curl into a sneer. He hardly believes you could pass a high-school gym class, let alone be a vigilante. Speedy was a real vigilante. Speedy had skill. Someone as cute and naive as you? Gotham is going to eat you alive. 

“Robin.”

You recoil at Batman’s harsh tone. You’re used to your own mentor being harsh but it’s hard to be afraid of a blond archer who’s barely breaking 5’10. Robin notices the way your muscles tense, the way you shuffle back slightly. Amateur.

“I don’t babysit.”

You scoff. “Babysit? We’re practically the same age—“

“Enough.” Batman snaps, jutting a harsh finger towards Robin. “We have important things to do. I’m trusting you and Arrow’s sidekick to help Nightwing tonight, and I expect you to act adult about it.”

He leaves no room for argument, his mouth set in a hard line that tells you not to push him. You nod curtly, zoning out as Batman finishes berating Robin. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed. When Oliver had come to you tonight and told you you’d be hanging out in Gotham, you were ecstatic to finally meet Robin. You’d heard so much about him, had a million different things you wanted to ask—like how is life patrolling the streets of Gotham, and is Batman really a vampire?

Despite your upset, you shrug your shoulders. He’s still warming up to me, you remind yourself. It’ll be fine once we spend some time together.

Boy, were you wrong.

You made it a whopping five minutes with Robin—occasional comms with Nightwing coming in—before your first argument.

You’d tried to make conversation with him but it seemed like the more you talked, the faster he moved. No pressure—you may not be built like Wonder Woman just yet, but you are pretty fast. 

“Did you pick out your costume?” You ask. “I really wanted to pick my own but Ol—Arrow wouldn’t let me.”

He doesn’t answer but you swear you hear him grunt in frustration.

“Is it true there was a Robin before you?” 

He stops dead in his tracks, stalling so quickly you have to move to the side to avoid running straight into his back. He spins around, brows furrowed from under the mask, and fixes you with the angriest look you’ve ever seen.

“Do you talk this much with Green Arrow?”

You shake your head.

“Then why are you still talking to me?”

“I just,” you take a deep breath and force yourself to hide your frown. “I haven’t gotten to meet any heroes yet. Like, young heroes. I thought we could be friends…”

“Friends?” He spits the word like it’s venom. “We’re patrolling Gotham, not doing arts and crafts together.”

“But I just—“

“If you can’t take this seriously, why don’t you just go home?”

You keep quiet after that. 

Jason’s ready to eat his words.

When you were trailing after him like a puppy, asking a million dumb questions, he had no problem shrugging you off. But now that Nightwing’s called for an assist and the two of you are neck deep in the Penguin’s lackeys? Those words taste pretty heavy.

He’d hesitated—just for a second—but you dove right in. You took out a man nearly double your size before Jason could even react and then proceeded to tear through the gang with such grace and speed that he could hardly believe his eyes. 

If it were anyone else, he’d be impressed. 

“This doesn’t prove anything.” He yells at you through the sounds of violence. 

You force yourself to ignore his bitter words and focus on the fight in front of you. You can deal with Robin’s temper tantrum later.

A particularly big man creeps up on Robin’s six and before he can land a blow, he’s dropping to the ground with an arrow sticking out from his shoulder. Jason finishes off the goon in front of him and spins around, looking from you to the incapacitated man on the ground.

Adrenaline rushes to his head like alcohol. “I didn’t need your help.”

You open your mouth, a million words ready to burst out—none of them particularly polite—when there’s a quiet thud behind you.

“Well, I sure needed some help.”

You spin around, stars blooming in your eyes at the sight of Nightwing. Suddenly, your frustration towards Robin is forgotten.

“How would you guys feel about dinner on me as a thank you?”

You eagerly agree.

Nightwing is much nicer than Robin.

At least, that’s all you can think of as you sit across from the dark haired man in the diner and watch him eat a stack of pancakes. Robin sits to his left, also unmasked, scarfing down a burger. 

The resemblance between the two is striking. They both have blue eyes—though different but equally brilliant shades—and dark hair.

“So,” you ask, “what’s it like working with Batman?”

Nightwing smiles. “It’s…tumultuous sometimes. Lots of discipline, intense training, but it’s rewarding. Back when I was Robin, there were days that I hated it but now that I’m older—“ He shrugs. “I miss it.”

“You were the other Robin?”

He laughs, looking from you to the current Robin who’s stopped eating and is now staring daggers at his plate. “I was the first Robin. He actually used to wear my costume when he first started.”

“But not anymore?”

He pats Robin on the shoulder. “He’s a little broader than I was.”

You ask a dozen other questions from there—like how he met Batman and how he founded the Titans—and Nightwing happily answers them all, much to Robin’s dismay.

Jason’s frown only deepens throughout the night. First, Batman saddles him with a total rookie, and then you ask him all these annoying questions, and now you’re sucking up to Dick? He’s lost track of how many times he’s rolled his eyes.

When Batman and Arrow come back and you leave, he doesn’t even say goodbye. Just smiles and watches you go.

You spend an unfortunate amount of time with Robin over the next year. He’s just as aloof each time you see him, though more and more he starts to keep his annoyance to himself, and more and more, he actually looks at you.

The fifth time you meet, he asks you a question.

 It’s quiet, half-mumbled and offhand, but it counts. “Do you ever get jealous of Speedy?”

And despite his aloofness and unwarranted anger towards you, you offer him an honest answer. You sigh, nod your head and explain the complicated history between you and Roy and Oliver.

The eighth time you meet, he opens up to you about his complicated relationship with Nightwing. 

He tells you about how he feels like a shitty replacement, how he wishes he could do things the way Dick does it, how he chafes under Batman’s expectations in ways Dick never did. 

“Nightwing always tries to tell me he was the same way. He even said he stole the Batmobile once but I just—I feel like a fuckup.”

You place your hand on his shoulder—and he lets you—and you solemnly agree to share his burden.

The eleventh time you meet, he saves your life. 

He shoves you out of the way before a bullet can hit you, the sound of it whizzing past his ear so close it ties his stomach in knots. He lays across you on the ground for longer than he should, his chest heaving with every breath. Even after you gently shove him and prompt him to get up, it takes him a minute to gather his bearings.

When he finally does get up, he looks at you with such concern, you wonder if it’s really your Robin under that mask. 

“Nice save.”

Despite the compliment, Jason can’t even come up with a cocky retort. His heart is beating too fast and even after he rips off his mask and sees you with his own, bare eyes, the stampede in his chest doesn’t stop. You almost just died. And in that moment, he realizes the annoyance and contempt he’s held for you is gone, instead replaced by a new warmth that has bile rising in his throat.

The thirteenth time you meet, you finally learn his real name.

It’s different from all the other times. You’re not patrolling together or running off on a mission with the Teen Titans—you’re dropped off at Wayne Manor in your plain clothes, locked inside for the night while the JLA faces a world-ending threat. 

Robin turns on a movie for the two of you, Alfred bringing you stuff to snack on throughout. Still, the shitty action movie he’s put on can’t keep your mind off of the impending threat to the world, and the dubious safety of your mentor.

“Can I ask you something?”

He raises his eyebrows, those brilliant blue eyes twinkling in amusement, “don’t you always ask regardless?”

“Do you ever worry about Batman?”

“He’s Batman,” he shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t like him being off without me, but I know he always makes it out.”

“I—“ Your voice breaks, your eyes starting to water, “what if he doesn’t come back? What if something happens, and I never see him again?”

Without thinking about it, Jason reaches out and brushes a tear away from the corner of your eye. “Hey, it’s gonna be alright.”

You shake your head, crying even harder. “B-but what if it isn’t?”

You’re hyperventilating now, shoulders shaking as the sobs wrack your body. Jason’s seen you angry, he’s seen you afraid, seen you laugh. In all the time he’s known you, he’s never seen you cry—and he would do anything to get it to stop.

“Jason Todd.”

You furrow your brows, confused—but the confusion helps chase away your concern and with it, your tears. “What?”

“My name,” he says, “it’s Jason.”

You nod slowly, murmuring his name quietly, over and over again. You take him in—his tired blue eyes, his messy dark hair. “Yeah, you look like a Jason.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrug, refusing to elaborate. Jason doesn’t mind, though, because you’ve stopped crying and that’s all that matters to him.

You keep talking after that, finally revealing your name to him, too. You watch a few more movies, obsessively watch the news and eventually, the two of you fall asleep on the couch in the living room. You wake up at some point in the night, the tv turned off, one of Jason’s arms around your waist, and smile. 

Maybe things really will be alright.

You don’t see Jason again.

For a while, things are strange. Oliver keeps things from you, Roy pulls away, taking on a new persona, and you stop going on patrols and start training even harder.

Then, you’re back at the Watchtower and Robin is there but it’s not your Robin. He has dark hair, he has blue eyes, but it’s not Jason. Just the sight of him has resentment bubbling in your chest, bitterness brewing on your tongue. You wonder if this is how Jason felt when you took over for Roy. 

And then they drop the bomb on you: Robin died.

You don’t feel like being a sidekick after that.

The first time you meet Red Hood, it’s worse than being shot in the chest.

Arsenal had told you—warned you—that things were different. That while he’s still very much Jason Todd, so much has also changed. He’s died and come back to life, spent considerable time in jail cells and Arkham Asylum. Roy warned you to keep your distance. If only you had listened.

He looks like Jason, your Jason, only taller. Broader. His voice is deeper, that boyish charm is gone. He carries guns now, and according to Roy, has an even more tempestuous relationship with Batman that he ever did before.

Still, when you meet him, all of the breath is knocked from your body. “Jason?” 

Red Hood stares at you blankly, a gloved hand slowly moving to pull off his helmet. Underneath it is a black domino mask and a face so familiar, it aches to look at. His skin is marred with scars, some of his hair now streaked with white, but it’s Jason. It’s Jason and he’s alive and he’s right fucking here.

 “No fuckin’ way.” 

His words echo in your head and for a second, you’re flash banged with an image from the past. With young Jason, clad in his Robin costume, complaining to Batman that he has to stay with you for the night. 

“No,” Robin shakes his head, arms crossed over his chest. “No fuckin’ way, Batman.”

You stumble from the scalding familiarity, Red Hood catching your wrist to keep you from falling.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Because you have. The ghost of the boy you once loved, of the boy you spent countless nights with, of the boy who comforted you when it felt like the world ended. Of the boy who died and left you alone to face his replacement. 

Roy’s warning circles your mind, reminding you this isn’t the same Jason you once knew. But that can’t be right, because he’s right here and he’s holding you and god, has he always been this tall?

“I should go.”

That alone shatters the illusion, the fantasy you’ve been building in your head disappearing just as fast as it had formed. You look at him in confusion, lips parting.

“I’m not…I’m not Robin anymore.” I’m not the same person I used to be.

Despite his words, his warning, he looks at you expectantly.

“Well,” you say quietly. “I’m not a sidekick anymore, either.”

An invitation.

Jason takes a deep breath. “Would you want to grab a drink sometime?”

And while maybe Robin, that starry eyed teenage boy who just wanted Batman to be proud of him, who just wanted to help people, may be gone, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t see a glimpse of him underneath that red hood. 

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“Nice try, kitten,” he’d growled, voice distorted through the helmet. “But this city’s got enough stray cats causing trouble.”

You’d fought then — a blur of acrobatics and precision against his raw power. You were faster, slipping through his grasp like smoke. He was stronger, relentless, refusing to let you disappear into the night. In the end, you’d escaped with the necklace, but not before he’d left a bruise on your ribs and a strange, electric tension in the air between you.

From that night on, it became a chase.

You’d plan a heist. He’d show up. You’d tease him with a smirk and a clever escape. He’d growl threats and pursue you across rooftops, the city lights blurring beneath you both. Sometimes you won. Sometimes he did. But neither of you ever really tried to end it.

It was almost like a game.

A dangerous, addictive game.

The night everything changed started like any other.

You were on the roof of an old art gallery in the Diamond District, the wind whipping through your sleek black suit as you disabled the security system with a few careful flicks of your tools. The target was a stolen artifact — a ancient cat statue that belonged in a museum, not the private collection of a mob boss. Selina had tipped you off. You were almost done when the familiar weight of his presence settled behind you.

“Stealing again, kitten?” Jason’s voice was low, rough, like gravel under boots. “Thought we talked about this.”

You didn’t turn around immediately. Instead, you finished securing the statue in your bag, a small smile playing on your lips. “We did. You talked. I listened. Then I decided I didn’t care.”

You spun then, leaping gracefully to the next rooftop. He followed without hesitation, the chase beginning like it always did — exhilarating, heart-pounding, a dance of shadows and sparks. You were faster on your feet, slipping through narrow alleys and across fire escapes. He was relentless, cutting you off with calculated jumps, forcing you to improvise.

But tonight, something felt different.

The rain started halfway through the chase, slicking the rooftops and making every leap a little more dangerous. You landed hard on a wet ledge, slipping slightly, and Jason was there in an instant — catching your arm before you could fall, pulling you against his chest with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.

For a moment, you were pressed together, rain pouring down around you, his helmet inches from your face. You could feel the heat of him through the armor, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his grip on your arm was firm but not bruising.

“You’re going to get yourself killed one day,” he growled, voice distorted but still unmistakably his. “And I’m not going to be there to catch you every time.”

You looked up at the blank black domino mask, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the chase. “Then maybe you should stop chasing me.”

He didn’t let go. His hand slid from your arm to your waist, holding you there on the ledge as the rain soaked through both your suits. The city lights blurred below, the world narrowing to just the two of you — enemies, rivals, something neither of you had named yet.

“I can’t,” he said, voice quieter now. “I’ve tried. You’re under my skin, kitten. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

The tension snapped.

You kissed him first — impulsive, desperate, the rain mixing with the taste of him as your hands fisted in the front of his jacket. He froze for half a second, then kissed you back like he’d been starving for it, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other pressed into your lower back, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was messy, urgent, full of all the frustration and want that had been building for months.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against your own, white eyes through the mask unreadable.

“I shouldn’t want this,” he said, voice rough. “You’re everything I’m supposed to stop. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop chasing you. Can’t stop wanting you.”

You smiled, small and breathless, fingers tracing the edge of his helmet. “Then don’t stop.”

He kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, like he was savoring every second. The rain kept falling, but neither of you cared. In that moment, on a rain-slicked rooftop in the middle of Gotham, the line between enemy and something more finally blurred beyond recognition.

And for the first time in years, Jason Todd felt like he wasn’t alone in the dark.

The days after that rooftop kiss were a strange, beautiful chaos.

You still stole. He still chased. But the chases ended differently now - with stolen kisses in alleyways, with his hands on your waist as he pressed you against brick walls, with whispered confessions between breaths.

He started showing up at your apartment after patrols, helmet off, armour scuffed, looking at you like you were the only real thing in his world. You’d patch him up, fingers gentle on his scars, and he’d pull you into his lap, kissing you like he couldn’t get enough.

One night, after a particularly long chase that ended with both of you laughing on a rooftop, he held you close, arms wrapped around your waist as the city lights twinkled below.

“I don’t know what this is,” he admitted quietly. “But I don’t want it to stop. You make the night feel less heavy. Make me feel like I’m more than just the Red Hood.”

You leaned back against his chest, smiling. “You are. You’re Jason. My Jason. The one who chases me across rooftops and kisses me like the world might end tomorrow. And I don’t want it to stop either.”

He turned you in his arms, kissing you slow and deep, hands sliding under your suit to trace warm paths along your skin. The touch was possessive but gentle, full of all the want he didn’t know how to put into words.

When he pulled back, forehead against yours, he whispered, “Stay with me tonight. Not for the chase. Just… stay.”

You nodded, kissing him once more. “I’m not going anywhere.”

In the quiet dark of his apartment, with Jason’s arms around you and his heartbeat steady under your ear, the rivalry that had defined you both finally felt like the beginning of something better.

Something that felt a lot like home.

You sigh and roll your eyes. “I don’t play games.” You’d never really been into them unless it was UNO or Twister, and that was about it.

“Well, tonight’s the night,” Grace said, practically buzzing with excitement. “We’re playing spin the bottle and kiss, but there’s a twist—we have to answer questions. And if you refuse, you have to kiss someone you’ve secretly had a crush on.”

You gave her a confused look. “A what?” you asked, wanting her to repeat it just to make sure you’d heard her right.

Grace clapped her hands together. “Everyone, sit in a circle.”

Boys and girls sat around the circle for the game. A part of you forgot how many people were here at this frat party until you looked around.

One by one each person went playing the game. You didn’t know what to expect from this game even though you was not going to back out now.

“Oh, it looks like it’s your turn, Dean,” Hannah says excitedly.

You quietly scoff but don’t say a word. You couldn’t stand Dean, even though he was one of the most popular guys on campus alongside Graham and Logan. You never understood why girls liked him so much, especially when he never settled down with any of them.

He clears his throat, glancing around the living room at every girl for a moment. “Alright, let’s see who it’ll be.” He reaches down and spins the bottle across the floor.

The bottle keeps spinning and spinning until it finally slows to a stop, landing directly on you.

“Oh shit,” Grace whispers in your ear.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, hoping this had to be some kind of joke.

Dean’s gaze stayed fixed on you. “Guess today’s finally my lucky day.” He stepped closer, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

For a second, you froze, completely caught off guard. You thought about pulling away, but before you could, his lips were already on yours. Instinctively, you kissed him back, teasing his bottom lip between your teeth before pulling away too quickly.

His eyes dropped to your lips, then slowly lifted back to your face. “Fuck… way better than I imagined.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself up from the floor. “Well, I should probably head back to my dorm.” Grabbing your jacket off the couch, you hurried toward the door.

You weren’t really in the mood to say goodbye to anyone.

“Hey, wait!” a voice called just as you reached the last stair.

You turned to see Dean jogging down after you before stopping right in front of you. “Hm?”

“That’s it?” he asked.

You sighed. “It was just a kiss,” you reminded him.

He let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, but I’ve been wanting to get to know you for a while now.”

“A while?” You lifted a brow. “You don’t even know me.”

He cleared his throat. “No, but I notice you between classes… and at that café you go to sometimes.”

You nodded slowly. “Uh-huh.” Truthfully, you’d barely noticed Dean existed until tonight.

“I just think we should get to know each other,” he said, his tone serious.

“Uh, don’t you have some puck bunny to keep you company tonight?” There was no way you were about to look foolish hanging around him.

He shook his head. “Yeah, but I can—”

“No thanks,” you cut in before he could finish. “I don’t date, and you’re not really my type.” It was only half a lie.

“Not your—” He stopped himself, then tried again. “Can we at least be friends?”

You slipped your jacket over your shoulders. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Without another glance back, you turned and headed straight for the bus stop.

The line crackles in your ear before his voice comes through, rough and familiar.

“Baby.”

You smile into your pillow. “You sound out of breath.”

“I’m running across rooftops in six layers of body armor. What gave it away?”

Somewhere in the background, you hear wind rushing past the receiver and the distant wail of sirens. “You could just say you missed me.”

“I do miss you,” Jason says immediately, easy and honest in the way he only is with you. Then, after a beat: “Hold on.”

A muffled thud. Someone yells. Jason curses sharply. “Jase?”

“I’m good,” he says, breathing harder now. “Some idiot thought he could pull a knife on me.”

“You know, most boyfriends send goodnight texts or calls when they’re in bed.”

“Most boyfriends aren’t actively fighting crime in Crime Alley.”

You laugh quietly, rolling onto your back. “True.”

He hums and you can practically picture the grin under the helmet. “You still awake because you were waiting for me to call?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s cute.”

“Don’t start.”

“No, no,” he says. “I’m being serious. It’s adorable. Makes me feel loved.”

“You are loved.”

Silence. Not empty silence. The kind that settles warm between two people who know each other by heart. Then softer, almost lost beneath the sound of his footsteps:

“Yeah. I know.”

“Jason.”

“What?”

“Why does it sound like you’re in a tunnel?”

“I am in a tunnel.”

You sit upright immediately. “Why are you in a tunnel?”

“Tracking a weapons shipment.”

“Alone?”

He pauses.

“…Maybe.”

“Jason Peter Todd.”

“Oh, wow. Full government name. I’m terrified.”

“You should be.” 

You hear him laugh under his breath, and then the metallic clatter of something being climbed. “You know,” he says, “normal couples talk about their days.”

“We are talking about your day.”

“My day usually includes armed robbery.”

“Your life choices are exhausting.”

“And yet,” he says warmly, “you stay.”

Before you can answer, voices echo faintly through the phone. Jason’s tone changes instantly. Sharper. Colder.

“Hang on.”

You hear movement. Fast footsteps. A crash. Some muffled arguing. Another crash. The line goes fuzzy for three seconds and your stomach drops.

“Jason?”

Nothing.

“Jason!”

A hiss of static. Then, breathless laughter.

“You should hear the way you say my name.”

You nearly choke. “Are you insane?”

“Clinically? Probably.”

“You disappeared!”

“I dropped the phone.”

“You dropped me into cardiac arrest.”

“Aw,” he says. “You worried about me?”

“You literally got murdered once.”

“Fair point.”

It’s almost three in the morning when your phone buzzes with a phone call from Jason.

You answer sleepily. “Hi.”

“Did I wake you?”

“You called me. Guess.”

“Yeah, but you sound all soft.” He pauses. “Cute soft.”

“You’re obsessed with calling me cute.”

“You’re obsessed with being cute tonight.”

You hear his motorcycle engine rumbling low beneath his voice.

“Headed back to the manor?” you ask.

“Eventually.”

“That means no.”

“That means I’m thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

The engine revs louder for a moment before easing again.

Then you hear a quiet “You ever think about leaving?”

Your chest tightens. “Leaving Gotham?”

“Leaving me.” He exhales slowly.

There it is. The fear he buries under sarcasm and bullets and bruised knuckles. You sit up fully now, voice gentler.

“No.”

“You answered that way too fast.”

“Because I didn’t need to think about it.”

Silence again. You imagine him stopped at a red light somewhere in the city, helmet tipped down, eyes closed.

“I’m serious,” he says eventually. “You deserve normal.”

“Jason, I fell in love with you, not normal.”