Chapter Text
Just as Bloody Mary was crawling from the mirror toward Sam Winchester, you noticed how tightly Jason was grasping onto your wrist. Thinking he was scared, you decided to take advantage of the opportunity to tease him. You twisted your head to look at him.
You hadn’t expected to find him crying.
You hummed in concern and immediately paused the TV, turning to fully face him.
“Jason, ¿¿¿qué paso???”
“I-“
A small sob escaped from his throat, and he moved a hand to cover his face.
“Baby, ¿tienes miedo? ¿o qué?”
When you didn’t get a reaction, you tugged at his sleeve, trying to get him to uncover his face. He was only crying harder.
You’d never seen him like this. Sure, he’d shed the occasional tear here and there, but he’d never full on cried before. It was starting to frighten you.
“Jason,” you prompted him again, feeling the first pangs of panic in your stomach. “Estás bien, ¿¿cariño?? Dímelo.”
You knew him well, but you’d never seen him react like this before.
“Yeah, I’m scared,” Jason finally choked out.
“Pobrecito, baby, it’s okay. We could’ve turned it off.”
“Sam’s right,” he said.
“Sam…in the show??”
“Yes,” Jason snapped, finally removing his hand from over his face. “Sam in the show.”
You tenderly reached a hand up to brush his hair away from his teary eyes, knowing his tone wasn’t directed at you but at himself.
“I don’t understand.”
He unconsciously leaned his head into your touch by a single increment, and you cupped his cheek in response.
“Keeping secrets,” said Jason. “It’s unfair to you. I-” his voice cracked, and he let the thought trail off.
“…Secrets??”
He broke down again at that. You pulled him into a tight hug, his face burying into the crook of your neck. You could feel his hot, warm breaths against your skin.
“I’m sorry. I’m just…”
His voice came out muffled, his lips moving against your neck. Eventually, he pulled away to look at you, taking your hands in his own. You could feel your stomach slowly drop, unsure of what on earth he was going to say next.
“I’ve been pushing this off too long. I need to tell you something really…” He whetted his lips and tried again. “I’ll just preface this by saying that if this changes everything for you, I understand.”
He squeezed your hands, and you just sat there, frozen in mild terror. Was he cheating? Terminally ill?? You wished he’d just spit it out.
“I’m the Red Hood.”
Your first instinct was to pull away your hands, but you stopped yourself. He was desperately searching your eyes, trying to find your honest reaction. Neither of you could figure out what it was.
“I shouldn’t have kept it a secret so long. I should’ve told you before I asked you to move in with me, but I… I got scared. I wasn’t sure if you’d…” He swallowed and looked down at your hands resting in his. “I really care about you, but I didn’t live it out by telling you sooner. Hawkins was my fault. That thing with Black Mask, too. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”
Your mind was reeling. You had no idea where to start with your many thoughts.
“I’ve been so unfair to you,” he added, “and like I said, si todo es diferente, lo entiendo. I’ll just walk away, and you never have to see me again.”
You blew out a slow breath through your mouth before responding.
“The Red Hood as in…the anti-hero guy who kills people……and the one who saved me from Hawkins??”
He nodded, something akin to shame shrouding his face.
This time you did pull your hands away. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, fear was creeping through your body. Anger, too.
“You’re right, you haven’t been fair to me.” You folded your arms closely to your chest, feeling far too vulnerable. “Why did it take a fucking episode of Supernatural to convince you to tell me something like that??”
“I’m sorry. I don’t have an excuse for this, I just have to deal with the consequences.”
You shifted away from him on the couch and wiped at the angry tears beginning to well in your eyes.
“You said secrets? Plural?”
He looked back down, and you clenched your hands, trying to find at least one sensation that felt in control. He was silent for longer than you would’ve liked.
“Chico, será mejor que lo escupas ahora antes de que pierda la cabeza,” you demanded.
“You’re familiar with the Wayne family?” he asked quietly.
“Who isn’t?” Your face showed your confusion at the course the conversation was taking.
“Bruce’s second son-“
You interrupted him, impatient for him to get to the point.
“What does that kid have to do with us???”
He shifted his shoulders, agitated.
“I’m that kid. Well, I’m an adult now. But I’m Jason Todd.”
You stood, too hiked up on your stress to stay seated.
“Don’t fucking lie to me. He died years ago. You’re crazy. I-”
He also stood and stepped toward you. You backed away, alarmed.
“Don’t- don’t put your fucking hands on me,” you said, voice strained.
He retreated.
“Sorry. I’m not going to touch you; you don’t need to be scared.”
“I have every right to be scared!! You’re claiming to be someone who’s dead! And someone who’s a fugitive of the law! I’m leaving, and if you try to find me, I’ll-!” Your voice caught, and you stopped short, fully distressed. You weren’t sure you were brave enough to threaten him or in a safe enough position to turn this into a full-fledged fight. “Why are you lying to me?” you finally begged of him, voice scratchy.
“I’m not lying to you. I can prove it.”
“Prove what!?! You can’t prove shit like that! Stop denying it!”
Though he didn’t intend for it, his voice rose in volume and frustration.
“Fine, let’s get real about this. That Joker documentary? I wouldn’t watch it with you because he was my fucking murderer. You ask why I never take my shirt off when we have sex, and I said it’d because I’m insecure. Yeah, I’m insecure ecause I don’t want you to see my fucking autopsy scar!!”
“That’s not possible,” you challenged him, too taken aback to even consider entertaining his claims. “Prove it.”
Without a second of hesitation, he pulled his shirt over his head, breath labored.
You stared in unbelief. The light pink line contrasted deeply against his brown skin, running across his shoulder blades and down the center of his chest.
“Is that not good enough??” he questioned you. “To put your fingers in my wounds like a Doubting Thomas? Is this not good enough for you????”
Tears stung at your eyes.
“This is too much.”
You turned and started for the door, snatching up your more important belongings on your way. Keys, wallet. What else did you need?
“(y/n)-”
“I need time,” you choked out, shoving your laptop into a tote. “Please, just… No.”
He started toward you, but you quickly exited, slamming the door behind you and descending the stairs two steps at a time.
Once on the street, you regretted your hasty exit. It was cold and snowing, and you only had a sweater. You took the subway downtown to your favorite café and cried into your coffee at a seat in the corner. The whole situation was far too overwhelming.
Honestly, the autopsy scar was the most jarring. It was the only rational explanation for a scar like that. The only other thing you could come up with was that the wound had been self-inflicted—and that possibility was just as distressing. You found yourself wondering if Jason had done it to himself to further cement his delusion that he was actually Jason Todd.
Jason. Was that even his name?
Stuck in your thoughts, time flew. Before you knew it, the staff was asking you to leave so they could finish closing. You wandered back out into the cold, unsure of what to do next. Getting a hotel seemed too sad. But your nearest friend lived all the way up in Robbinsville, and you really didn’t want to take the train at this hour.
After wandering for a good chunk of time, becoming increasingly anxious to be out on your own, you were struck with an idea. Admittedly, probably a really bad idea. You decided to go through with it anyway.