prodigaljaybird: (PB - Disheveled.)
It's been two weeks since Lux gave him the news. Two whole weeks, and Jason's been able to think of little else, all his thoughts consumed with what might be. He thinks, after a lot of deliberation, that he hopes it's a girl. A boy would be great, too, and Jason would love a little boy with equal fervor, but when he looks at Lux, with her soft hair and her beautiful blue eyes, he just. He can't stop thinking about how beautiful her daughter would be, with all of Lux's kindness, and maybe some of Jason's energy.

Either way, the kid willl be a handful. He's learned that much sneaking books from the shelf, about what to expect when expecting and afterwards, what babies need, what toddlers need. Holy shit, Jason can't wait for when the baby can talk, he's going to do nothing but read it stories, the kind he always wished his own mom had had time to read. Make it sandwiches with the crusts cut off like Alfred made. Tell it things, everything, the way everyone always refuses to do for him. This baby will want for nothing, the truth least of all.

And clothes. Surveying the pile he's secreted away in his old cave, Jason thinks he might've taken too many babyclothes from the box, but that's all it will give him.

With an inward shrug, Jason deposits his latest finds - a bib that reads #1 Baby and a onesie that proclaims Jason the greatest father in the world - and exits the caves quickly, startling to see a familiar face as he emerges.

"Oh," he says, pausing, but he brightens. "Hey!"
prodigaljaybird: (Comics - Studying.)
Not for the first time, Jason thinks that if it weren't for Bucky's hardass cardio class, he'd be crawling out of his skin by now.

He's gone back to his grave no less than three times, stood under the shadow of that enormous fucking monument. Brought no less than three times the amount of explosives it'd take to blow it up, too, but he hasn't done it. Not yet.

But he's going to. Sometime when...when it won't make things worse. When it'll mean something's over, not just beginning, not the start of some new anger inside of him that he'll want to keep feeding, need to keep feeding. Sometime when the sound of it, the violent burst of it won't make Lux cry.

He itches for it, expression dark more often than not, brow drawn down and mouth a thin, flat line, sneakers traded back for his heavy boots, beating hard against the jungle floor when he walks away from his hut. He doesn't realize he's headed for Tim's until he gets there, more wound up than when he started walking, and he thinks...he should probably leave. That he's no good to people when he feels like this, not to the ones he can't punish, and he's punished Tim enough. But he can't take this shit back to Bucky, and he's not taking it to Lux.

Exhaling as evenly as he can, Jason sinks onto the edge of Tim's porch, sits quietly, and tells himself he's resting, not waiting. If his brother's got any luck left, Jason'll be gone before Tim ever looks out the window.
prodigaljaybird: (Comics - Worry.)
Jason doesn't remember the first six months following his resurrection. He has pieces, fragments with edges too smooth to catch onto, snatches of cold and endless hunger, before everything tipped into warmth. He remembers Talia in brief, kind touches, fingers on his shoulders, his cheek. Knows that he fought a little, when the al Ghul's first took him in, but knows they never actually hurt him.

Not until the Lazarus Pit.

They'd washed him in fire and water, sent his consciousness screaming back whole and raging and thrust him into the night, naked as a jaybird and twice as terrified.

He hadn't been angry. He still isn't, not at them, hadn't remembered to be angry until he read the paper and discovered just what Talia meant when she told him, You remain unavenged. Clear as newsprint, black and white, the Joker alive and unpunished, and Bruce...Bruce abandoning Jason to his fate. Unavenged, unloved, unwanted.

He'd killed two people before he came back to himself that night.

He doesn't feel like killing anyone now. It's different, somehow, Bucky riding away from him and Bruce turning his back. It hurts the same, but it doesn't make him angry.

He's a messy crier, always has been, wet and loud and shaking all over, and Jason's chest aches with the force of it, but by the time he realizes the truth, by the time he realizes Bucky's not coming back, he's already exhausted, tears cutting jagged lines down red cheeks, spilling over a jaw he can't seem to steel no matter how he tries.

Jason makes it to Tim's porch in relative silence, not even breathing when he sits down. There are a couple places he could've gone. To Lux. To Katniss. To Boyd, even, but he doesn't want them to see him cry.

Tim's already seen the worst of him, and Jason rests his head against the porch support, pushes a tired hand over his eyes and doesn't open them.

The sobs, when they return, are quiet.

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Jason Todd

September 2014

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