Okay. But when Bruce discovers Talia knew Jason was alive? That she knew his child was the man under the red hood. His boy.
Oh.
Jason’s met and memorized every facet of Bruce Wayne. He knows Bruce by the way his eyes melt when he looks at him, to the hard lines of his cowl. He knows where Bruce starts and Batman ends.
When Bruce rips off his cowl to give her the deepest glare Jason’s ever seen, he’s reminded there’s no difference. Fear hits his stomach when he swallows,
“Hey, old man, don’t fucking blame HER. She has NO obligation to you—“
Bruce’s eyes are unblinking, wide, jumping from her frozen form to him. And Jason’s suddenly 10 again, running from hungry stray dogs cornering him in a place with no exit.
Bruce’s voice is shadow and whisper, “Quiet.”
“…Okay.”
“Damian,” he rasps, pointing at the small figure with dark hair and green eyes, who looks at neither of them. He looks at Talia. Jason thinks it’s fair. He’s never seen her scared, either. “Car. Cave. Stay. “
There’s something incredibly bitter in Jason when he just does. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t rebel. He wants to, with every fiber and matter and crumb in his body. And his body says no.
He grabs Damian like he’s an angry cat, not the small assassin he knew since he was born. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t want to, he realizes.
“Did you know?” Bruce asks, such a deadly calm to him, too calm for the winter in his eyes. Talia would’ve preferred a blade to the neck.
She can’t meet his eye. Almost like if she doesn’t face his hatred, his disapproval, his disappointment, it doesn’t count. “I did. “
“…Whatever you do,” she’d take it as pity if he didn’t sound repulsed , “you’re still his daughter.”
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anyway have any of you ever thought about how Jason was raised by wolves and then an army and told he had to be the best so he became the best, made himself the best using his experiences and power, who has to prove himself time and time again to the people who made him, and then he meets Percy Jackson who, with almost none of Jason’s training, without having been raised and molded into a leader, is better than him
Percy Jackson, who had a childhood, who had a mom, who seems all the better for it. Jason can finish his quests and missions and get a pat on the back and congratulations for bringing honor to the Legion and nothing else because that’s what’s expected of him, while Percy gets hugs and cookies and tears of relief and so much love because people had been hoping he’d succeed, not because it meant victory, but because it meant he'd live.
all of the things Jason’s gone through to make him that perfect leader and soldier feel like they were all for nothing because he looks at Percy Jackson and sees that perfect leader and soldier and none of the things that made Jason good are what made him great
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ghost sitting so languidly during an intense meeting right before a mission, his eyes heavy and glaring right at you. you shift uncomfortably under his watch, swallowing hard knowing he's done nothing but stare at you the entire time. you feel his eyes burning through you as you speak, trying hard not to let your voice waver. you wonder if he’s even paying attention to what price is saying. your heartbeat is absolutely racing in your chest, not sure if his appraisal is lustful, vengeful, or something else entirely. so when price breaks the team off into pairs, you almost pass out when he buddies you with ghost. the second that left price’s mouth, ghost is shifting in his seat, sitting forward and leaning against his knees, a sly grin on under his mask. you have no idea what you’re in for.
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pt.1
shoko has never seen satoru gojo; the strongest, look quite this weak. he’s sprawled across his office desk and the smell of vodka hits her so hard her eyes water.
“what are you doing?” she drawls, eyes flitting around the room as she tries to make sense of the man’s pathetic state.
“y/n?” he slurs and struggles to raise his head up.
shoko sighs.
“not quite.”
she drops her cigarette to the ground and crushes it with her heel as she walks over to him. he finally meets her eyes and she frowns. he looks… dead. the look reminds her of someone long ago… and for a brief moment she’s terrified of the sorcerer in front of her.
“what’s going on gojo?”
he shakes his head and mumbles incoherently, laying back down on his desk. shoko has to force herself to not roll her eyes and she clenches her teeth together.
“you think this is gonna help you?”
she picks up the nearly empty bottle of alcohol and smashes it on the ground.
“you’re fucking pathetic,” she spits, “get yourself up. you’re not… you’re not going to turn out like him no matter what. you’re gonna man up and fix whatever has caused this.”
satoru stares in drunken shock at the smashed bottle. he sighs.
“i can’t… i can’t fix it,” he mutters, “messed it up to bad.”
shoko sighs again.
“did something happen with, y/n?”
he sniffles at the sound of their name coming from shoko’s mouth and gulps.
”i had to protect them,” he whispers, staring emptily at the ground, “i’m dangerous. being around me is dangerous.”
shoko doesn’t know what to say, she watches him as he watches her.
“… you’ve never been the smartest, have you, satoru?”
he scoffs and swings his arm up wildly.
“you’re so mean to me,” he pouts, the momentum from his arm causes him to slide and stumble out of the chair and onto the floor. he groans and flops defeatedly around.
“you’re a mess. stay right here and try not to hurt yourself please.”
— —
satoru doesn’t know when he blacks out or how long he’s been asleep before he hears muffled voices outside the door. his head is pounding but he feels sober enough… unfortunately.
“i don’t know shoko… after what he did…”
“at the very least talk to him, it may give closure for both of you if nothing else.”
there’s silence. then the wooden door creaks open and he winces, flinching away from the light. your blurry form comes into vision. god you’re just as beautiful as the day he left.
“satoru,” you say.
your voice is like honey to his ear, so sweet and soothing. he lifts his head, his blue eyes shining. it’s been weeks but it’s felt like years. your hand comes done to touch his cheek and he shivers, his eyes almost rolling back at the feeling of your skin on his again.
“what’s going on?”
“i miss you,” he mumbles, nuzzling into your palm. you instinctively stroke your thumb along his cheek bone.
“you cheated on me. you… you left me.”
he shakes his head.
“no.”
you raise an eyebrow and cup his chin, forcing him to meet your eyes.
“what do you mean, no?”
“i could never cheat on you.”
the way he says never almost makes you swallow hard.
“you told me you did.”
”i… lied,” he admits, shame in his voice. you freeze.
“you what?”
he groans and pulls away from you, finally sitting up fully and facing you properly. he wants you in his arms so badly.
“i lied,” he sighs, “i thought it would be better… I thought i was protecting us both.”
he feels the sting of your slap before he can fully process what happened.
“that’s for fake cheating on me.”
he gapes at you, hand coming to his cheek.
“you hit me?!”
“you deserved it.”
“… you’re right.”
you sigh one last time before leaning in and kissing him. you still taste just like strawberries and mint, he thinks.
“and that is because i’m stupid enough to still love you after all this.”
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