Fic: Life and Death
Title: Life and Death.
Characters: Jason Todd
Rating: PG
Warnings: Talk about suicidal thoughts/death, and vague descriptions of violence
Word Count: 500-ish
Author's Notes: Set in the Under the Red Hood animated movie 'verse. Though it could probably work for the main comic 'verse.
Bruce saves him.
It’s not really what Jason wanted.
There’s a reason he set up the explosives, and it wasn’t just an incentive to make Bruce choose. Because he knew, deep down, that Bruce would never make that decision. And maybe he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do it either. He set up the explosives because he wanted to die.
It feels... wrong to be alive.
It’s felt that way for as long as he can remember since Ra’s brought him back. Even when he wasn’t really conscious of what he was, of who he was, it still felt wrong. He’s supposed to be dead. The Joker beat him to death then blew him to high hell and he’s supposed to be dead. It’s like his skin doesn’t fit anymore, too tight or too loose; he can’t decide, it always just comes back to the wrongness.
Someone else might call what he’s doing a death wish.
Actually. He’d probably call it a death wish too, but he doesn’t really feel like arguing semantics right now. Especially not when he’s crawling out of the wreckage of the building he just blew up.
He wouldn’t need to pull himself out of said wreckage if Bruce had just fucking left him. He hadn’t even realized what he’d wanted until he saw those numbers ticking down again, until he let himself breathe out and slide down to the ground.
He’d die. And the Joker would die. And everything would be right. Maybe Bruce would live, Jason was kind of past caring.
But no, Bruce had to ruin everything by being there. He wasn’t there when it mattered and now Jason wanted to die and Bruce had to save him. Had to fist his hand in Jason’s shirt and drag him out of the building just as it all went up in flames.
Now Jason’s cradling a broken wrist, what feels like a few fractured ribs, burns down his right thigh, and the assorted bruises, cuts and scrapes that Bruce gave him during their fight. And he’s doing all this while slipping into the back streets, trying to hide from Bruce.
No, he’s hiding from Batman. Because Bruce would have shot the Joker. But Batman can’t, Batman never will and maybe Jason understands that now. Or maybe he’s just delirious from pain; every step makes him wince and his masks is slipping off because he’s been crying, apparently spirit gum isn’t as... gummy as it’s supposed to be.
It wouldn’t be a concern if Bruce had just let him die like he was supposed to.
Oh. His thoughts are going in circles, now he knows he’s delirious. He should probably do something about that. But the only clinic he can trust is on the other side of town, and he sure as hell isn’t going to a hospital. Bruce-- Batman will be looking for him.
He staggers into a dumpster, sending a jolt through his chest and arm, making him groan and whimper. He scrubs at his mask until it falls off; watches it flutter down and land in a mirky puddle.
He follows a few seconds later. His cheek hitting the water next to his mask.
The ground is cold and hard, he knows he should push himself up, should try to crawl away or do something other than just lie there and slip into unconsciousness. But last time he did that, the end result didn’t change, so he doubts there’s much point now.
Maybe this time he’ll wake up dead.
Characters: Jason Todd
Rating: PG
Warnings: Talk about suicidal thoughts/death, and vague descriptions of violence
Word Count: 500-ish
Author's Notes: Set in the Under the Red Hood animated movie 'verse. Though it could probably work for the main comic 'verse.
Bruce saves him.
It’s not really what Jason wanted.
There’s a reason he set up the explosives, and it wasn’t just an incentive to make Bruce choose. Because he knew, deep down, that Bruce would never make that decision. And maybe he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do it either. He set up the explosives because he wanted to die.
It feels... wrong to be alive.
It’s felt that way for as long as he can remember since Ra’s brought him back. Even when he wasn’t really conscious of what he was, of who he was, it still felt wrong. He’s supposed to be dead. The Joker beat him to death then blew him to high hell and he’s supposed to be dead. It’s like his skin doesn’t fit anymore, too tight or too loose; he can’t decide, it always just comes back to the wrongness.
Someone else might call what he’s doing a death wish.
Actually. He’d probably call it a death wish too, but he doesn’t really feel like arguing semantics right now. Especially not when he’s crawling out of the wreckage of the building he just blew up.
He wouldn’t need to pull himself out of said wreckage if Bruce had just fucking left him. He hadn’t even realized what he’d wanted until he saw those numbers ticking down again, until he let himself breathe out and slide down to the ground.
He’d die. And the Joker would die. And everything would be right. Maybe Bruce would live, Jason was kind of past caring.
But no, Bruce had to ruin everything by being there. He wasn’t there when it mattered and now Jason wanted to die and Bruce had to save him. Had to fist his hand in Jason’s shirt and drag him out of the building just as it all went up in flames.
Now Jason’s cradling a broken wrist, what feels like a few fractured ribs, burns down his right thigh, and the assorted bruises, cuts and scrapes that Bruce gave him during their fight. And he’s doing all this while slipping into the back streets, trying to hide from Bruce.
No, he’s hiding from Batman. Because Bruce would have shot the Joker. But Batman can’t, Batman never will and maybe Jason understands that now. Or maybe he’s just delirious from pain; every step makes him wince and his masks is slipping off because he’s been crying, apparently spirit gum isn’t as... gummy as it’s supposed to be.
It wouldn’t be a concern if Bruce had just let him die like he was supposed to.
Oh. His thoughts are going in circles, now he knows he’s delirious. He should probably do something about that. But the only clinic he can trust is on the other side of town, and he sure as hell isn’t going to a hospital. Bruce-- Batman will be looking for him.
He staggers into a dumpster, sending a jolt through his chest and arm, making him groan and whimper. He scrubs at his mask until it falls off; watches it flutter down and land in a mirky puddle.
He follows a few seconds later. His cheek hitting the water next to his mask.
The ground is cold and hard, he knows he should push himself up, should try to crawl away or do something other than just lie there and slip into unconsciousness. But last time he did that, the end result didn’t change, so he doubts there’s much point now.
Maybe this time he’ll wake up dead.