Soft Jason Todd
"Jason, baby, come to bed," you muttered, stumbling into the Cave in nothing but some boxers and one of Jason's shirts. You plastered yourself to his back, wrapping your arms around his torso, resting your head between his shoulderblades.
"I swear I'm almost finished with this, doll, it's right there, I can sense it," he muttered, placing his hands over yours instinctively.
"Come sleep on it. You've been down here for hours. Come back to it fresh tomorrow," you told him. "Please?"
"Doll, really I---"
"Jason, it will still be here tomorrow," you promised as he turned to look at you. "You're too tired to make the connection clearly. Come to bed, get some sleep, eat something nutritious, then come back to it."
He looked at you, brushing some hair from your face, then cupping your cheek and leaning your foreheads together.
"Okay, doll, I'll come to bed. Just let me clean up down here, okay?"
"Okay," you replied, leaning further into him.
"Or I can leave it here for Bruce," Jason decided, sweeping you up into his arms.
"Jason! Oh my god!" you yelped, grabbing onto him in shock.
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple in apology.
"Thank you," he murmured. "For looking out for me."
"'Course, I love you, why wouldn't I?" you asked, leaning your head against his shoulder, eyes drifting shut in exhaustion.
"I would die for you," Jason swore quietly.
"I'd rather you lived, and lived well."
"I'll work on it."
"Good."
"Go to sleep, doll, I'll be here in the morning."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Love you."
"I love you too."
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you examine yourself like studying a virus.
for days after, months - years, even - you torture yourself over small objects. times where you misspoke or interrupted with a joke when you should have listened. times when you didn't know how to show your support. times when you were louder, brassier, inappropriate for the situation. times when you were too quiet, shy, cold.
fucker. you constantly promise that next-time you'll do better. you will make sure every person you come in contact with leaves smiling. that they'll all feel loved and accepted and held. that you take care. other people do it! other people are actually good people; you're just cruel.
it feels like you are fighting a horrible little beetle. one of those parasites that control ants. one who comes up and wiggles into your brain and makes you a shameful ghost of a person. too spineless to ever be a demon. so what if you were having a bad day? you don't get to stumble. so what if you are overwhelmed? you don't need to make a scene.
all this time on the earth. you are still somehow convinced: the mistakes you make are more important than any other part of you. you still feel like you are wrestling a nature you do not understand; one that coils horribly inside of you. one that seeks to destroy, to undo.
you go home. you replay the moments where you weren't perfect. be better, you scold. do more. you are an accident. a train wreck. something to abhor.
the questions always ringing in your head: why did i do that? why do i slip? why can't i just fucking be normal? what if all i am is just ... this?
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Fuck you Le'garde, you whoreish golden frenchman. I'm taking my new daughter, my adoptive failknight, and my cool dog, and we're starting a band together
Yes I know the implication is that you either never truly escape or are at least followed by crippling PTSD but I'm electing to ignore that in favour of FUCK YOU, LE'GARDE
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