Archive of Our Own

Jason wakes up in the dark.

This isn't unusual.

He always preferred sleeping in darkness as a child, something he still couldn’t explain. The darkness wasn’t what worried him. What worried him was the lack of sound, other than his breathing and how stale and cold the air he breathed was.

His eyes were open, and yet, all he could see was inky darkness, no light source to be found.

He felt soft satin as he shifted, a firm pillow under his head, and he realised he was in a casket.

The memories came rushing back to him, and he realised what happened. He died. He was dead. This wasn’t possible.

His breathing quickened and he had to force himself to slow it back down again, fearing for how much oxygen he had left. The satin and wood above him held solid no matter how he scraped, and how bloody his fingers got, he tried kicking up at the foot of the casket to no avail.

He had to get out.

He had to get home.

They had to know he was alive still

His breaths grew more and more laboured and his eyes pulled to a close, releasing him back into the darkness.

Jason wakes up in the dark.

This shouldn't have been unusual, but it made Jason uneasy.

He felt satin-covered walls surrounding him, realising where he was much quicker this time around.

The casket.

This time the panic set in early, but so did the memory of what happened the last time he panicked like this. It was easier to calm his racing breaths this time.

As he ran his fingertips over the satin and wood above him, a thought struck his head. He was wearing a suit. A suit with a belt.

His belt buckle might just be enough to pry up the wood to get out! If nothing else he has to try.

It scraped and scarred the wood, seeming for a few minutes like it was a fruitless measure until he hit the wood again and heard it crack and give way, a tiny bit of dirt falling onto his face. He kicked at the wood at the other end of the casket, but all that did was knock more soil onto his face and into his open mouth. He tried to cough, to get the dirt out, but unable to sit upright or stop the flow of damp earth, it just kept coming through the hole filling his lungs until all he could taste was earth and all he could breathe was dust and debris.

His rising panic couldn't be quelled as he realised what was happening. Again.

Jason wakes up in the dark.

It felt less unusual now than it did the other times.

He felt queasy, swearing he could smell, nearly taste earth and petrichor but finding nothing but unmarred soft satin and hard walls.

He was in the casket again.

Remembering what happened the other times, Jason didn't dig up near his head, didn't hit the wood with his belt buckle, thinking about the suffocating dirt filling his mouth and his lungs, choking his breath. He kicked and kicked at the foot end of the casket, kicking out and up, hoping that either panel would give way, when finally it did.

He dug his way up and out from his grave, gasping when he finally reached the open air, savouring the rain as it washed the dirt from his face.

It was so fucked up seeing your own name on a gravestone.

He stumbled to the exit of the graveyard, and in a moment of desperate thoughtlessness, he stumbled straight in front of a car on the road beyond the gates.

Jason wakes up in the dark.

It should be unusual now.

He was really getting sick of this bullshit.

This time, he knew where to kick, to get out of this grave, the weak spots in the wood, to hold his breath for a few seconds as he dug up and out, into the rain. He scowled at his gravestone as his eyes flicked over it.

This time, Jason didn't leave immediately. This time, Jason looked around and orientated himself to his surroundings.

He recognised this graveyard. His grave plot pride of place under a great oak tree, a familiar gate to be seen as he turned around and looked toward the path.

He was in the Wayne Manor graveyard, which meant the manor itself was just up the hill. If he could make it back to Bruce…

Who was he trying to kid? Would Bruce even believe it was him? Would Bruce even want him to come back? After all, Bruce couldn't save him from the Joker the first time.

“Fuck it” Jason muttered to himself, as he made his way toward the manor, toward Bruce, and Alfred, and maybe Dick, if he wasn't in Blüdhaven.

The path was long and slippery as he made his way to the side entrance, and about halfway up the hill, he began to see a shadowy figure, silhouetted in the light of the manor ahead of him.

“Who's out there?” A booming voice demanded. A voice that Jason would recognise anywhere. Bruce.

“B? It's me, it’s Jason.” Jason croaked, the mix of cold, moist night air and dirt from his grave stealing his voice away from him.

Bruce's face morphed from shock to fear to anger as he shined his torchlight at Jason's grave dirt-covered suit.

“If that's you Clayface, and this is some kind of cruel joke, then you have a lot to answer for.”

“It's me, I promise B. I don't know what's going on B. I woke up and it was dark and I think I died a couple times, B. What's going on?”

Jason's exhaustion began to catch up with him, and as his knees threatened to give out from under him, Bruce came and pulled him into a tight hug, slowly pulling away but keeping his grip on Jason's shoulders tight as he moved Jason one way and another, as if checking what he already knew was somehow true.

“Let’s get inside Jaylad, and we'll figure this out together, okay?” Bruce's voice sounded hollow and disbelieving as he picked Jason up as if nothing had ever happened and walked back to the Manor.

The next time Jason woke up, it was in the light of morning sunshine. He could hear birds calling outside and pans clanging in the kitchen downstairs.

Jason Todd woke up in the light and knew he was alive this time.

also here's some art I did bc I was rewatching under the red hood and made a joke about someone getting jason a get well soon balloon for his grave: