remaneos:

pairing: jason todd/reader

prompt: from @jason-todd-rh‘s prompt challenge –  “#1 Jason almost dies and the reader has to stitch him up. He tries to make a joke but the reader cries because they’re afraid they almost lost him.”

i’m pretty sure i had a dream about this?? so i thought, why not write it?? anyways, jason todd is Always in my dreams™

Over the long haul, Jason comes to learn that no matter how many safe houses he has, you’re always going to be his refuge. He always comes back to you. Eventually. He comes and go in your apartment, disappears for weeks without a trace of himself, but he always comes back to you.

He tries to make up some excuse. “You’re better at stitching wounds than me,” he says, but he knows better. Jason’s smart, too clever for his own good – and as much as he tries to ignore it, he knows. He knows that he wants to be with you, wants you to fix him instead of himself, wants to be in your presence rather than himself. Because he knows, with you, he’ll always feel safe. Always feel like himself, even though he’s lost much of it already.

He’s sitting on your couch, full of new bruises and scars and bleeding. You’re by his side – you always are – carefully closing up his wounds with caution and precision, blood (his blood) dripping down your gloves. It’s bad, you think, one of the worst injuries he’s ever gotten but you try not to focus hard on that. You don’t want to think of the possibility of death, of Jason dying. Your Jason.

“At least your couch is red,” Jason jokes, but your lips remain thin, a void of words coming out of your mouth. Not even a laugh or a chuckle.

When you’re done cleaning his wounds, there’s a moment of silence that seeps right in between the two of you. It’s a comfortable silence, with the bright moon in the night letting out a quiet sigh and the presence of each other knowing that you’re both alive enough to calm the air. Once you’ve put away your materials, you take a seat on the couch next to him, your hand slipping in with his.

Your touch is always so gentle and soft. Much like you, Jason thinks.

“You scared me, you know,” You whisper out, faint and quiet, but he listens. “I thought… I thought I was going to lose you again.”

Your hand in his stutters, shaking, but holding desperately for him to remind yourself that he’s here, that he’s alive. Jason is quick when he realises that you’re crying – crying because of him – and he disregards the shot of pain that he feels in his side as he tries to pull your head closer to him, letting his thumb run across your cheeks as an attempt to dry your tears.

“I’m here,” he murmurs softly into your hair, a never-ending mantra that leaves his lips. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

You let the mellow hum of his heartbeat soothe you (you then notice how Jason has made a trend of himself doing this, pulling you close and letting you listen to the calming rhythm of his heart), and when you’ve finally gained somewhat of yourself, you look up at him, careful not to disturb the stitched wound.

He was so, so, beautiful. Your Jason.

You brought up a hand to caress his face – with all the scratches and marks on his face, he was still your Jason. He’s stunned, for a moment. You’ve held him a thousand times (and wishes you could hold him a thousand times more), but there’s always a lingering thought in the back of his head – a nagging voice telling him that he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve your touch, doesn’t deserve you.

And then a smile appears on your lips, a smile that reaches your eyes and all the doubt is gone. You love him, and he knows you’ll go through Hell to prove him that. Jason is content with that knowledge. You love him, you love him, you love him.

“At least I don’t have to clean the couch,” You laugh.

Jason looks at you, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile.

You let your hand drop, pulling his from your face and then letting your fingers lace through his. Jason’s tired – eyes heavy, his bones sore. You tug him to lay on your lap, mouthing him to rest. He’s hesitant, at first. Jason doesn’t want to make you feel alone, but your light smile reassures him, and the tender touch of your other hand as you comb his hair finally puts him to sleep.

He won’t have any nightmares tonight, and neither will you.