Jason Todd

prodigaljaybird @ 2014-09-16T15:04:00

2014-09-16T22:30:26Z

The set-up's taken weeks, but the Red Hood is as patient as Jason is not, waiting and planning, gathering intel and distributing false data, wiring bombs and executing his plan to perfection. Five Lobos lieutenants, one captain, and in a stroke of luck, two high ranking Mad Men are all gathered in a small room of long abandoned warehouse 56.

The block is empty. The doors are shut. Inside the men are in varying degrees of inebriation, helped along by a little something Jason slipped into Aguilar's flask. Jason waits.

And waits.

And waits. And when he's completely satisfied, he sets the timer on the explosive charges and turns to leave, checking his outside feed one last time.

He's planned every detail to the last. Which is why it shouldn't truly be a surprise that fucking Allison Argent is in the alleyway outside.

"Dammit," Jason swears, looking at his timer. He could stop this, but any moment now, Allison's going to get the attention of the bangers inside, and Jason doesn't know when he'll get an opportunity like this again. "Dammit," he swears again, and flies swift and silent through the window into the outside air.

"Get out of here." The words ring clear and sudden through the night, for all that they're barely above a whisper. "I mean it. Go right now."

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prodigaljaybird @ 2014-08-13T17:00:00

2014-08-14T00:07:03Z

He lost him.

Didn't he?

Does anyone ever really lose the goddamn Batman?

Pale and shaky, Jason casts another look over his shoulder. There's no one there, but then, that's what Bruce might want him to think. Perhaps he's slunk back into the shadows, perhaps he's watching, waiting for Jason to show his hand.

Well, here it is. He hasn't fucking got one, left his apartment like an idiot in minimal gear so he could meet Allison, a half dozen weapons and his gauntlets all that he has on him - a handful of nothing all that might stand between Jason and a deeper cut.

Lifting a trembling hand, he palms at the scar on his throat, only to rip his hand away again. If Bruce is watching, Jason doesn't mean to let him see him suffer. Darting down the next corner and then another, Jason doubles back, takes a second and third rooftop, then darts down another alley. His route is spinning, and Jason's spinning with it, eyes half to crossing and his cheeks green when he rounds another corner, barking in surprise when he runs into -

"Allison." Fuck. Bruce can't see her, can't know what she means, but she's here and if he's watching there's no escaping it. Jason tries and fails to school his expression into something less nauseated, croaking her name again. "Allison."

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prodigaljaybird @ 2020-07-19T11:04:00

2012-07-19T18:06:00Z

PHONE

Please leave voicemail for Jason Todd here

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prodigaljaybird @ 2020-07-19T10:57:00

2012-07-19T18:04:19Z

MAILBOX

Please leave mail for Jason Todd here

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forward dated

2012-06-29T02:10:14Z

He can hear Steve shouting through the wall.

Sequestered in his own clinic room, bleeding stemmed and consciousness returned, Jason could go. He's tucked under white sheets, not bound, hooked to a single monitor. Concussed, not dead, and even wounded he could be out of the Compound in seconds.

For the third time in his life, Jason's too afraid to move.

He's never heard Steve so much as raise his voice, never seen him afraid, but muddled though his memory is after being brained by the shield, Jason now recognizes that tightness in Steve's earlier expression as fear.

His view of the ceiling blurs and clears, blurs again, tears sliding in a steady stream down Jason's cheeks. If Steve's afraid, and Steve's angry...

Bucky might be too far gone. Jason had fought his way through a Soviet compound, unarmed and unaided save for what help an injured Bucky could give. But he can't save him from conditioning in his own head. Bucky told him once that the Winter Soldier was a ghost, so untraceably deadly that he was more myth than man. Tabula Rasa can't afford a threat like that. And Steve's afraid.

With a small, helpless sound, Jason closes his eyes. The tears keep coming.

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dated June 29th

2012-05-16T17:35:35Z

Jason moves away from the hut at a jog, face masked in casual expectation for the day ahead while his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest. His steps are easy, eyes fixed only on the path, and the instant the trees swallow him Jason doubles back at a dead run.

Something's wrong with Bucky. Something is wrong, and even without knowing what it is, Jason has seen enough to know that when things are wrong with Bucky, people die.

He slips right through Steve's window, trusting that this man, at least, won't kill him just for startling him. "Steve," Jason calls, voice pitched just loud enough to carry inside these four walls.

God, please be home. "Are you here?"

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[backdated]

2012-02-12T23:18:47Z

It's taken so long to find him that for the short moment Jason pauses to look, he doesn't trust his own eyes. There's sweat in his eyes, exacerbating an already present sting, perspiration running down his arms to fight Jason for his grip on the batline, but it doesn't falter, aim desperately sure and grip too tight to let him fall, but now.

But now he's found him, Bruce's back to him in the jungle as he gathers wood for purposes Jason's wired too tight to understand. In all the hours he's spent searching, Jason hasn't figured out a damn thing to say, crawling out of his skin ever since he left Cass's side, the depth of it, the weight of it too much to untangle and put into anything like words.

He could die here. In the shape he's in, Jason doesn't have a prayer if Damian's lurking close by, but he doesn't give a fuck. Of all the things he's decided he can live with, live through, he's not sure this is one of them.

Leaving the trees at last, Jason hits the ground on legs almost too tired to hold him, but he stays upright, a croaked sound all that escapes him but for his labored breaths.

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prodigaljaybird @ 2012-01-20T18:22:00

2012-01-21T02:29:30Z

He hasn't come here since the snow melted.

Hasn't come here, in fact, since those fractured days following Bruce's arrival, feet bringing him here like they could step from sand and into memory, back to a time when Tim was here to tell him what to do.

Staring at the aging wooden structures of the outdoor gym now, Jason finds their delipidation sad. Stupid, for it's not his Tim that built it, but it feels like a legacy all the same. He should do something. Tear something of Tim's down again, but this time, with a mind to rebuild it. He doesn't have the tools, but -

"Hell, now's as good a time as any," Jason murmurs, crossing from the parallel bars and into the closest copse of trees. He lets a batarang fly before him, sharp edges catching the center of a trunk, and Jason arrives in front of it with his leg already outstretched. He feet catches the trunk just right, and with one short, sharp crack, the tree splits down the middle.

Felling trees for lumber might be easier with a saw, but it's not nearly as much fun.

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