Chapter 1: steinbeck
Chapter Text
“All great and precious things are lonely.”
― John Steinbeck, East of Eden
Jason knew it was you as soon as he stepped up to the library front desk.
He’s not sure what exactly gave it away – the slope of your nose, your eyes, your brows scrunched in that expression of concentration that hasn’t changed in the decade that he’s been away. You’re processing returns, but you look up when you see him standing there dumbfounded, staring at you like a freak. He’s bundled up for the winter, a beanie drawn down over his hair and a coat zipped up to his throat, so it shouldn’t hurt when you look up at him and smile like you don’t recognize him, but it does.
Your gaze shouldn’t send a thrill through his body, but it does.
“Hi there!” you chirp, your voice warm and unfamiliar. It’s lower than he remembers, more womanly, like you’ve grown up, and he supposes you have. “How can I help you?”
“I, uh,” he clears his throat. “I’m here to sign up for a library card.”
Jason isn’t sure this is exactly where his priorities should lie, but he hasn’t had a library card since he was a kid, and he’s tired of spending his meager money on books or resigning to reread tattered copies he’s read three or four times. You perk up, seeming overjoyed to spread the gospel of the public library to a young man like him.
“Okay! Do you have an I.D. and proof of address?” you ask, setting aside your previous task to dedicate your attention to him. Your eyes are tender, so achingly familiar.
He slowly slides the necessary documents across the table towards you, his gloved fingers lingering, almost like he wants to keep them from you. It’s not that he doesn’t want you to know – though he’s not sure he does – that it’s him. But he’s successfully cut out most of his life from before, avoiding memories when he can, and though the memories of you are the sweetest, he’s not sure he’s ready to face them yet.
But you don’t give him much of a choice; you take the documents, and you read off his name, the syllables rolling off your tongue, “Jason To–” And then you freeze, your mouth still agape with the last vowel of his name, and your eyes flicker up to meet his, wide. Like you’ve seen a ghost.
He supposes you have.
You whisper, “Jay?” and your voice holds so much shock, so much relief, so much raw emotion that he folds.
“Yeah,” he says, voice thick, “it’s me.”
You look over at your coworker, who’s watching the exchange with rapt interest. “I have to step away for a second,” you breathe, and then you’re pushing through the swinging gate to come see him. You’re practically running, and you drag him away from the front desk, favoring the corridor between the front doors to talk. He prepares to explain himself, to tell you that you didn’t have to worry, that he was fine.
When you round on him, he has all these things on the tip of his tongue. But instead of asking him where he’s been, or why he left, you just throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and burying your face in his neck.
He blinks, shocked. And then he wraps his strong arms around you and hugs you back, pressing his face into your hair.
Your voice trembles when you whisper, “I thought you were dead. I thought you were worse than dead, I– I thought someone took you. I thought–“
He cuts you off. “I know, bug.” He’s surprised the nickname slips out; it’s like muscle memory has taken over after all these years, like he’s reverting to an old version of himself.
Like no time has passed at all.
But that would mean you’re two scared little kids back in Park Row, with nothing but darkness ahead. And though that may be true for him, it doesn’t have to be for you.
You finally pull away, letting your arms fall from around him. Instead, your hands rest on his arms, and you look at him – really look at him – for the first time.
You looking gives him time to look at you, and he realizes you’re crying. Watery eyes trail over his bundled form, cheeks flushed with emotion. Startled, he says, “Bug–“
You wave him away, letting out a breathy laugh. “You look great!” you blurt, wiping your hand across your face to brush away tears. “You’re– you’re huge!”
He can’t help but chuckle at that. “It’s the coat,” he says, though he knows it’s not.
Your hand squeezes his arm through his jacket, finding his massive bicep beneath. “What happened to the scrawny kid I used to know?” you ask in wonder.
He gives a bitter smile. “I guess he grew up, same as you.”
And at that, your eyes finally find the scars on his face, and you whisper, “Oh, Jay… Time’s not been kind to you, has it?”
He has to clench his jaw to avoid letting emotion through at your words, your kind, broken-hearted words. You have no idea what’s happened to him, and yet you can see him right where he’s vulnerable.
You turn over your shoulder, back towards the library’s front desk. “Let me go clock out,” you say. “It’ll just take a minute, and then we can go get coffee or something. I want to catch up.”
He tilts his head to the side, smirking a little. “You sure that’s okay?”
You scoff, smiling back. “I’ll tell them I had a family emergency or something. It doesn’t matter; you’re more important.”
His heart seems to glow in his chest at your words. “I’ll wait here,” he says gruffly, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his aching chest.
You flit back inside, and Jason keeps his eyes on you while he can. Meanwhile, you step back behind the front desk, whispering to your coworker, “Hey, River?”
They glance at you, looking curious. “Who was that?” they whisper back.
You don’t know how to explain what Jason is to you. You haven’t seen him in over a decade, didn’t even recognize him because he’s nothing like the snappy, glowering child you used to know. But he’s occupied your mind almost every day for those years, never straying far from your mind as you worried what happened to him.
And now he’s back.
“A family friend,” you finally decide. “I need to go; we’ve got an emergency.”
They raise an eyebrow at you, seeming unconvinced. They hum, examining you for a moment, before finally saying, “Fine. I’ll cover for you, but you have to take my Saturday morning shift.”
You roll your eyes but concede. You don’t have time to barter with them. “Fine. I’ll see you later.”
They wave, watching you go. Eyes locked on the gigantic man waiting for you in the corridor.
You return to him, offering a nervous smile. He returns the expression; it isn’t a big smile, just a twitch at the corners of his mouth, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You can’t help but wonder what’s happened to him in these twelve years since you last knew him. What took his fiery disposition and turned him into something quiet.
“Ready to go?” you ask, gazing up at him. Wondering what it’ll take for him to let you in.
He nods, sticking his hands in his pockets. He watches you silently as you pull your coat on and zip it all the way up, throwing a scarf around your neck. Then he walks outside, holding the door open for you. “Know a good coffee place around here?” he asks.
You nod, sticking your nose under the collar of your coat. You point down the street. “Couple blocks that way, if you want to walk.”
He glances at his car, parked in front of the library. He would offer it – it’s far too cold to be walking around like this – but he’s sure the weapons in the backseat and the Red Hood helmet on the floor of the passenger side would bring up several questions he isn’t ready to answer. So he just nods and follows you, making sure to stand on the street side of the sidewalk like a gentleman.
It’s quiet between the two of you for a while, and he’s not sure if it’s the cold keeping you from talking or if you just have nothing to say to him.
Finally, you glance over at him. “Hey, Jay?”
He grunts. “Yeah, bug?”
“Um…” You trail off, like you’re unsure you even want to ask. Here it comes, he thinks. The tough questions, the things he doesn’t want to answer, doesn’t have answers to. But your tone quickly shifts, and you ask brightly, “Uh, what brought you to the library?”
He glances at you. “Like I said, I wanted a library card.”
You quirk an eyebrow playfully. “So it really was just…serendipitous that you stopped by?”
He chuckles quietly, watching his feet as they make their way down the street. “I guess so.”
“You’d think you were checking up on me or something,” you tease.
And he feels a pang in his heart, because he could’ve been checking up on you. He could’ve found you after all these years, could’ve sought you out and followed you and finally showed himself to you.
But the truth was, he didn’t. He didn’t come find you, didn’t seek you out. He just stumbled upon you in this dark, dingy city after all these years.
Serendipitous, indeed.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
You shake your head, eyes forward. Unseeing into the distance. “Don’t be sorry.”
Both of you fall quiet again.
You reach the small coffee shop down the street from the library and swing the door open. He catches the door over your head and holds it for you, and you toss a small, grateful smile over your shoulder at him before walking inside. The warmth of the shop helps defrost that bone-deep chill, and you both unzip your coats, slowly shedding your layers as you approach the register.
You order your favorite coffee, and you pay for it before Jason can realize what you’re doing. He frowns as you slip away to go find a table, and then he turns back to the barista, who’s looking up at him with starry eyes. “And for you?” she asks.
“I’ll take an earl grey,” he says, ignoring the look she gives him. He’s not in the mood to be flirting, not when he’s seen you for the first time in ages and just wants to catch up.
He finishes paying and walks over to the table you took up, a cup of hot tea cupped in his large hands.
You smile up at him as he sits opposite of you, watching him take off his winter coat, revealing his broad chest beneath a dark long-sleeved t-shirt. You have to avert your eyes to refrain from staring. Your eyes instead flicker back to his face, examining the scars on his face, the crisscrossing white lines marring his skin. You slowly, hesitantly, reach across the table and gently touch the scar on Jason’s cheek, shaped like a ragged “J.”
He flinches, catching your wrist and pulling your hand away. “Don’t,” he whispers.
You do as he requests and drop your hand, reaching for your coffee mug instead. “I’m sorry,” you say, still watching him.
It’s quiet between you for a second. Then you mumble, “‘To be alive at all is to have scars.’”
A small huff escapes from between his lips, and he brightens a little, recognizing the quote from Steinbeck’s The Winter of Our Discontent. “When’d you get so smart, bug?” he asks, shaking his head.
You smile a little. “I’m in the English PhD program now. I guess you can say I’ve put the work in.”
He’s blown away by the fact. “Wait, really?”
You nod, sipping at your coffee. “I want to be a professor. To teach people like us, who just want to do better.”
His heart aches at the idea that you want to put back into the community that took so much from you. But at the memories, the memories of those dark times, your eyes flicker to his face once more, and you finally ask the question that’s been burning in you since the first moment you saw him.
“Where did you go?” you ask, sounding mystified. “I know– I know your mom’s death hit you hard but… I thought something happened to you. Did something happen to you? I just–” You shake your head. “I missed you.”
He sighs. “I know, bug. I missed you too.”
“Where did you go?”
He hesitates, trying to figure out how to respond. What could he even tell you? “I…went to stay with a family member, outside of Park Row. He took me in, brought me up until I could go off on my own.”
“But you never left the city?” you ask, confused.
He shakes his head. “Not for any meaningful amount of time.”
You avert your eyes, looking down at your coffee in your hands. Then, “Why didn’t you ever come back?” you whisper, slowly lifting your eyes to meet his again.
He clenches his jaw, letting out a quiet breath. His eyes, like sea glass, color shifting in the yellow glow of the coffee shop lights, stay trained on yours. “I’m sorry,” he says, not for the first time.
You shake your head, pursing your lips. “No, Jason,” you say, “not sorry. Explain to me. Why didn’t you come back? Or even tell me you were leaving? I– I was so worried–”
“I couldn’t,” he whispers, slowly shaking his head. “I just… I didn’t have time. It was all so sudden.”
You sigh, lowering your eyes again. Drawing patterns in the wood grain of the table for a moment. “I guess…you’re back now.”
He nods. “I’m back now. I’m…I’m sorry I never reached out.”
You nod, too. Not raising your eyes for a long time. Taking a moment to calm yourself. Then you say with a soft smile, “And I’m not letting you leave again.”
He huffs softly, smiling back. “Alright, bug. Don’t let me.”
And so you take his request to heart. You won’t let him leave; not again. This time, you’re keeping him for good.
Chapter 2: wilde
Notes:
CW: drug use
Chapter Text
“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
It’s quiet between you and Jason for a few moments as you both sip at your drinks. You’re keeping your eyes on him, making sure he doesn’t either up and run or just disappear into thin air like he did last time.
You weren’t lying when you said you won’t let him leave again.
“So,” Jason soon asks around his mug, “how’s school going?”
You shrug a little. “Good.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “That’s all I get?”
You huff playfully, your own smile curving your lips. You gaze at him for a moment, examining him. You like seeing him smile. “It’s really nice, actually. I’m starting my research and writing the thesis for my dissertation right now, and I’ll have it approved by my advisor in a few weeks.”
“What are you writing about?”
“Crime and Punishment.”
He hums, eyes lighting up. “Dostoyevsky, huh? What’s your angle?”
“Not a hundred percent sure yet, I’m still looking at sources. Something about the psychology of murder through his writings or something.” Your eyes shift away, suddenly shy.
“Hey,” he says, nudging your foot under the table, “don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay not to know what you’re writing yet. You’ve got time.”
You offer a weak smile. “Anyway, what have you been up to?”
Jason blinks, seeming surprised you asked about him, which is silly because of course you did. You want to know everything about him, want to know what he’s been up to since you were kids.
“I, uh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have an…internship.”
You chirp, “Oh, cool! What kind of internship?”
“Uhh,” he says again, and you’re not sure if he’s embarrassed to admit it, “I can’t…really talk about it. Signed, like, an NDA and stuff….”
“Oh.” You deflate a little; you won’t lie, it disappoints you, to have secrets between you. But you understand that, in this, he doesn’t really have a choice. “I get it.”
He nods, seeming relieved. “But I, uh, I’ve been reading a lot. Like, a lot. So whenever you need a friend to talk literature with or bounce ideas off of, let me know.” He smiles again.
You can’t help but smile back. “Sounds great. Maybe we can have a two-person book club.”
He chuckles, sipping at his tea again.
You pick up your own mug and realize it’s empty. You suppose that this is as good a time as any to call it a day and head home; you have class in the morning, and a commitment to get to tonight on your way home.
“Well,” you sigh, glancing at the time, “I think…”
“Time to go?” he asks. He sounds a little disappointed.
You nod, your expression mirroring his. “I have errands to run. But…can I see you again?”
“Of course, bug,” he says. Like it’s not even a question. “Whenever you want.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” you tease. Then you gesture to his pocket. “Can I give you my number?”
He nods, digging it out of his pocket before tapping away at the screen. You recite your phone number for him, and you feel bright and content for the first time in a while as he promises to text you.
Before you leave, you wrap him up in a tight hug. “Missed you, Jay,” you whisper, squeezing him.
He squeezes you back. “You too, bug.”
And you turn and walk down the street, humming happily to yourself as you go.
Jason knows he shouldn’t follow you.
He knows this, and yet here he is, trailing after you up on rooftops, helmet in place and leather jacket pulled around his shoulders. You left the coffee shop smiling, seeming so happy, just because you got to see him.
“Can I see you again?” you asked hopefully, and all he could do was say “Of course,” because he couldn’t bear to disappoint you.
As he watched you walk away, a pep in your step as you turned to walk home, he groaned and rubbed a hand over his face with a sigh. Then he jogged to his car and grabbed his helmet, switching out his winter coat for his leather jacket before following after you.
And now he’s tailing you, watching you walk home, still bundled against the bitter cold of Gotham City winter.
You live in Cherry Hill, you told him when he asked. Made it out of Park Row now that you receive a stipend for grad school along with working your job at the public library.
In all respects, you’re a success story.
So why does Jason feel like there’s something you’re not telling him?
He hops from roof to roof, his footfalls silent as he watches you from above, watches you tuck yourself into your coat and hurry along the sidewalks. You look over your shoulder every few moments, and Jason’s heart aches to think that you haven’t grown out of your Park Row habits of always watching your back wherever you go.
But then he sees someone in a black hoodie emerge, and his body tenses.
The person, a tall, slim figure, heads straight towards you, and Jason’s hand goes to the holster on his hip, quickly freeing the gun. He doesn’t aim it, not yet, but he watches you closely to make sure this stranger doesn’t make any sudden moves.
The figure makes their way over to you, and you lift your face, and Jason can see from this distance that you’re not scared. In fact, you seem to be expecting this person, whoever they are. He squints, trying to see you more closely, to see what the hell you’re doing with a random stranger in the street–
And then two small baggies exchange hands, and it finally dawns on him. You’re making a drug deal.
He rocks back on his heels, stunned. Memories of watching his mother – or, the woman who raised him – do the exact same thing, buy from shady figures in the street and bring substances home to smoke or shoot up in their dingy old apartment in Park Row. He remembers the night when it all became too much and swallowed his mother whole, leaving her dead in that same apartment. Leaving her body for him to find. Leaving him to pick up the pieces.
And you know that.
You know what it was like for him to have to bury her. You know what it was like for him to go through watching her slowly kill herself, slowly drown herself, slowly take herself away from him. You know what it was like for him to turn to crime, because he was desperate, because it was all he had.
You know that, and yet here you are, going down the same path she did.
And Jason finds that he’s angry. He’s furious with you, furious that you would do something like this when you’ve seen the consequences, when you’ve seen what it does to the bystanders. Once again, he’s going to be collateral damage to somebody who only cares about themself, who only wants to numb the pain and doesn’t give a shit who it hurts.
So once the deal is complete, and your hands are tucked into your jacket pockets, hiding the little baggies there, Jason drops down onto the fire escape above you with silent feet. He calls out, voice modulated through his helmet, “You shouldn’t be doing that, you know.”
You just about jump out of your skin.
You whirl around on your heel, searching for the source of the voice, and when your eyes find him, massive and imposing on the fire escape, your eyes narrow.
You’ve never been one for heroes, if that’s how you view him; Jason knows this, just like you know better than to get high and start down a path you can’t help but drag others down.
You gesture towards him, towards the guns on his hips. “What?” you ask, grimacing up at him. “You gonna shoot me for buying some weed?”
Jason can’t hold back a scoff at the idea. There’s that nasty attitude he thought you’d grown out of. “It’s a slippery slope,” is all he says in return.
You scoff, shoving your hands deeper into your pockets, like you’re trying to hide away your sins. “A little weed never killed anybody,” you snap back. “Don’t you have a patrol in Park Row you’re late for?”
Jason’s jaw tightens; so you know of him, the Red Hood. You know his territory, that he’s the vigilante of your old neighborhood, watching out for those who can’t protect themselves.
He replies, “Maybe weed hasn’t. But what’s in that second baggy of yours?”
Your eyes dart away for just a moment. Just long enough for him to know he’s right.
He grabs the metal banister and leaps over it, dropping to the sidewalk beneath. Then he takes a step forward, then another, until he’s in front of you. No longer dressed in the thick winter coat he was when you went out for coffee and his face fully covered by his helmet, he’s not concerned about you recognizing him.
He puts his large hand in your coat pocket, feeling the heat of your body through the fabric, and grabs the two bags.
One is, indeed, a few grams of bud, already starting to stink through the bag. The second, though, is a white powder, something he’s familiar enough with. He hums, voice low and threatening as he raises his eyes back to yours. “Coke? That your poison of choice?”
You grit your teeth, hands balling into fists, but your voice is calm and even when you speak. “Sometimes. What’s it to you? I didn’t think you were involved in the War on Drugs.”
He scoffs again, tossing the baggies onto the sidewalk. They sink into the thin dusting of snow that covers the concrete. “Hey, if that’s what you’re into, far be it from me to judge. But maybe you should use that brain of yours before you end up in deeper shit, with track marks up and down your arms.”
You scowl at his words, but stand firmly planted in place. He has to hand it to you; you’re stubborn enough to keep your eyes on him, even while your precious drugs lay there on the ground.
He takes a step back, eyes on you. You still don’t move. Maybe you’re not as desperate for a fix as he thought. “What’s even the point?” he wonders aloud.
Your eyes narrow. “You don’t know what it’s like,” you say, “to need to escape. Clearly you don’t, or you wouldn’t be asking me that question.”
Jason glares at you through his mask; what do you know about needing to escape, compared to him? Sure, you grew up in Park Row, and you saw some shit, surely. But nothing you could go through could match what he has.
He thinks about how he buries himself in his work, in his violence. How he lets himself get hurt just for the pain, just for the subsequent mental numbness it brings.
Surely you have to know that someone like him, a monstrosity like him, has to numb the pain, too.
And so he takes another step back, shaking his head, like you’re a lost cause, because maybe you are. Maybe you’re not the little bug he used to know anymore; maybe the two of you have irrevocably changed and will never be able to meld back together like you once did. Like Dorian Gray, maybe you were hiding hedonistic acts behind a pretty face.
Not that he’s not hiding his own secrets and violence under the helmet.
“Make sure you know your sources,” is all he says next – he doesn’t let a single thought slip otherwise. “Don’t want to find a body littering Cherry Hill one day.”
And with that he’s gone.
You’re breathing heavy, shoulders heaving as you stare after his shadow disappearing into the early night that plagues the winter in Gotham. Your hands are shaking, though you’re not sure if it’s anger or fear or whatever else you’re feeling in this complicated tangle in your mind.
You crouch down and pick up your two baggies from where they lie on the ground, now covered in snow. You shake them off and wipe them on your coat before stuffing them back in your pocket, grumbling wordlessly to yourself as you turn and stomp your way towards your apartment.
You triple check the door is locked behind you. Old habits die hard.
Then, once you’re safely in your apartment, in your quiet environment away from the grunge of Gotham City – and away from the opinions of its overzealous inhabitants – you sink down onto the couch and toss your drugs onto the coffee table.
You sit and stare at them for a long moment, thinking.
Then you reach down and grab your swishers, and you start rolling.
It’s a mindless task, almost second nature now, with how often you’ve done it. It allows your mind to wander, to think about your day, your interaction with Jason and how much it meant to you.
How much you’ve missed him.
But it also brings back bad memories, memories of Park Row, of what he left behind when he disappeared. Memories of darkness swallowing you whole until you weren’t even sure you were human anymore.
And sometimes, maybe those thoughts continue to stick.
So once your first joint is tightly rolled, you light it up, resting it in your ashtray as you roll the rest for next time. Allowing yourself to sink into the false peace that the drugs start to pull you into, the temporary reprieve from the memories, the anxieties, the low thoughts that threaten to pull you under.
That’s something that Red Hood surely will never understand.
And then you think of Jason, and what he might think, if only he knew. Now, instead of just drowning out your memories, you’re drowning out your guilt, too.
Chapter 3: stoker
Chapter Text
“Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings.”
― Bram Stoker, Dracula
Jason has always felt lonely in a crowd.
When he was growing up, he was looked over, ignored in favor of the better parts of society. Then, as he learned to disappear into the background of every scene like a shadow, fading into darkness.
So, all in all, he’s not entirely pleased when you ask him to join your night of bar hopping. But, it’s you, and despite the fact that Red Hood is still angry with you, Jason Todd has no reason to be.
So he agrees, because he can’t stand to see that little pout on your face when he hedges, “I dunno….” When he sighs and says, “Fine, I’ll come,” you practically jump for joy, and even though he’s still fighting annoyance at your apparent lack of understanding that you could kill yourself buying off random drug dealers in Gotham, he can’t hold back the gentle chuckle that rises from deep in his chest.
“Alright, alright,” he says, placing a hand on top of your head and shoving you aside. “Ready when you are.”
You jump up from your couch, where both of you have been lounging for the past hour talking about books and school, and practically skip towards your bedroom to get dressed. He shakes his head after you, his lips curled in the smallest of smiles, before he watches you shut the door behind you.
You get dressed in a cropped sweater, something skin-tight and long-sleeved, which reveals a strip of skin above the waistband of your skinny jeans. You’ll be cold, stepping out like this into the winter air, but you know dancing at the clubs you frequent will heat you back up enough that it won’t matter. You quickly swipe on makeup, knowing Jason is probably impatiently waiting and not wanting to upset him by taking too long. Then you shove your I.D. and debit card in your bra and check your outfit one last time in the mirror before stepping out into the living room once more.
Jason looks up from his phone, still smiling softly, and nearly chokes when he sees your outfit.
In his mind, you’ve always been the ten-year-old kid he left in Park Row. Even when he saw you after all this time, he couldn’t get that image of you out of his head: scraped knees, missing baby teeth, stubbornly running after him. But now, looking at you in that crop top, seeing how it follows every curve of your upper body and shows exactly how much you’ve changed, he finds his mouth going dry and his mind stuttering like a caveman.
As he hits himself in the head with his metaphorical club, he tries to clear his throat and averts his eyes. “Ready to go?”
You nod happily, smiling at him as you make your way past. Is he imagining it, or is there more of a sway in your hips, like you know he’s watching? He feels his face heat up at the thought.
He tries to peel his eyes away from you, but he can’t seem to. So instead, he tries to watch respectfully.
You lead him out of your apartment, locking it behind you, and you pick back up where you left off in your conversation.
“Okay, favorite classic horror, and why?” you ask, arms wrapped around yourself as you head out into the chilly night.
“ Frankenstein ,” is Jason’s immediate answer, looking away from your hips to glance at your face. Though it’s difficult for him to explain why the novel resonates with him; how can he explain that he himself is a reanimated corpse not meant to exist, that he wants to drop to his knees and beg the world for kindness rather than violence? So he just shrugs and says, “I think Mary Shelley is awesome.”
You narrow your eyes at him; you’ve never heard him talk about books with less than twenty minutes of intellectual discussion. But he just shrugs and asks, “What’s yours?” And so you sigh and reply.
“Gotta be honest, I liked Dracula better than I liked Frankenstein. ”
“What?” He sounds almost outraged. “That’s insanity!”
You shrug. “Just my honest opinion.”
“So you just don’t like to see women winning, huh.”
You huff a laugh and shake your head. “It’s not that! I just think Mina Harker is a badass.”
“Mhm,” he hums sarcastically, bumping his shoulder into yours. You grin up at him and lean into his side, enjoying the warmth of him as you walk the streets.
He wraps an arm around your shoulders, unable to resist. He wants you close.
You continue your walk to the bars of Cherry Hill, his arm still around you. When you lead him inside, he sees that the environment is actually quite chill, and he wonders if this night will end up with the two of you just drinking together and talking literature.
You grab his hand, and heat spikes through him through the touch. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him as casually as you do.
You lead him over to a high-top table in the back, the lights of the club illuminating the sparkling makeup on your eyelids and cheekbones. Jason watches you, entranced, as you walk up to your friend from the library and squeal, “River!” and hug them tightly.
He has to fight the hint of jealousy that flashes through him.
You turn and smile at him, your hand still on your friend’s arm. “Jason!” you say, your tongue lilting out his name brightly, and he basks in the sound of it on your lips. “This is my friend, River!”
He nods to your friend. “Hi.”
They smile back. “Hey.”
You laugh and lean into their side. “You guys are terrible! Absolute party poopers. Let’s get some shots going! That’ll lighten you guys up.”
Jason goes to try and stop you, to say he doesn’t want shots, but you’re already gone, leaving him with your friend. He sighs, and he and River level a gaze at each other, both seemingly uncomfortable.
“So,” River says, tilting their head at him, “how long have you known her?”
Jason shrugs a little, looking away from their wondering eyes. “We were friends as kids. Haven’t seen her in a while.”
River hums, eyes trained on him. “You guys must’ve been close. I saw the way she reacted to seeing you, that day at the library.”
Jason’s face seems to burn at the words. Were you close? You were kids; did you really know what it meant to be close to each other? He isn’t sure. He shrugs again. “I guess.”
Before River can further grill him on your relationship to him, you come back, several shots balanced between your fingers. You grin up at him. “You guys ready to get this party started?”
Jason raises an eyebrow. “Going a little hard, aren’t we?”
You just grin at him and grab a plastic cup. “Come on, come take a shot with me!”
River gives him a look like they’ve been through this tradition several times before. They grab a shot glass and clink it with yours.
Jason does the same. You all hit the bottom of the cup down on the table, and then shoot your drinks back. The taste is a mix of sour and sweet, and as he shoots it back he can barely taste the alcohol. Not exactly his vibe, but he’ll do almost anything for you.
You quickly go to the next shot, and he grimaces. “Hey, bug, you might wanna slow down.”
You give him a look, and it’s equally playful and chastising. “I’ve got a rhythm, Jay,” you say, and you take yet another shot.
Jason sighs to himself. It seems he’ll be taking care of your inebriated ass tonight.
You look at him, eyes still fully clear. He wonders how much you drink on a normal weekend to still be this lucid. He watches you take yet another shot, and then follow it up with a chaser of a vodka cranberry. He shakes his head at your antics, wondering if you have something else on the back of alcohol to make you this animated.
You grab River’s hand and his hand. “Let’s go dance!” you cry.
Jason groans, but lets you pull him along. River comes along willingly as you tug them onto the dance floor.
The lights haven’t even gone down yet, but you’re already throwing it back, shaking your hips and dancing animatedly. Jason isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or cringe at your wild movements, but it’s easy to tell that you don’t have a care in the world as you move to the music. Before he can get too embarrassed by your antics, the lights go out and the smoke machine starts, and the music is raised to the next level.
You go crazy.
You’re dancing so hard you’re breaking a sweat, grinding on River, swaying against Jason. It’s like you can’t decide who you want to bother more, and every time you come back up to him, he has to tighten his jaw so he doesn’t put his hands on your waist and drag you against him.
The combination of you and alcohol is a dangerous one.
You eventually come back up to him and press your chest against his, grinning up at him. “Are you having fun?” you shout over the music, your voice slurring drunkenly.
He lies, “Yeah, bug, having fun.”
“You’re a terrible dancer.”
He scoffs. “You should see yourself; you look like a toddler learning how to walk.”
You giggle and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling yourself right up against him. His eyes widen in surprise, but when you don’t pull back, he lets his hands rest on your hips. You sway with him for a moment. “I’m having so much fun, Jay,” you tell him, your words right in his ear.
He gives your hips a little squeeze. Can it truly be this bad for you to drink like this when you sound so honest and open? And how can he stay upset with you when you choose him to come take comfort in, to hug and dance to the music with?
He’s always felt alone in a crowd, but he doesn’t feel so alone when it’s with you.
~
You’re a mess.
Jason’s got you propped up against his chest as you stumble and slur, saying goodbye to River, who seems reluctant to let you stay with a strange man you only just reconnected with. It’s obvious you’re plastered, and he needs to get you home before you hurt yourself or someone else.
You’re also being a brat. “I don’t wanna goooo!” you whine.
River gives him a sympathetic look, obviously having dealt with you when you’re like this. He gives a deadpan expression, and they smile before grabbing you by the shoulders.
“You good?” they ask, searching your eyes. Making sure you’re okay with him walking you home.
You nod happily, grinning. “I’m okay! I wanna keep dancing.”
River shakes their head. “No. You’re going home.”
You stomp your foot like a child. “I wanna stay!”
Jason and River share a look. River just sighs and squeezes your hand. “Go home,” they say, before they take their leave and walk out of the club, getting in their Uber.
Jason sighs and grabs your arm, fingers wrapping around your bicep. “Come on.”
You huff and start to follow him. “I’ll walk you home and come back,” you say resolutely, and Jason rolls his eyes at you, shaking his head. There’s no way in hell he’s allowing you to leave once you get back to your apartment.
He tugs once on your arm. “Let’s go.”
You stumble after him, right into his side, practically bouncing off because he’s so muscular. He has to catch you so you don’t fall on your ass. He tugs you into his side, wrapping an arm protectively around you as he leads you out of the club and down the street.
You’re pouting the entire way. “Jay, I don’t wanna go.”
“I know, bug.”
“I wanna go back.”
“I know, bug.”
“You’re mean for making me leave.”
He sighs. “I know, bug.”
You fall silent, and he’s not sure if it’s because you’re actually upset with him, your drunk mind playing tricks on you and making you think he’s actually being unreasonable to walk you home, or if it’s because you’re finally calming down.
He walks you up to your apartment, and your hands fumble with the keys. He covers your hand with his and helps you slide the key into the slot. It turns without further hindrance.
You smile up at him, eyes hazy. He has to look away.
You take off your shoes and pad through your apartment to your bedroom. He hopes you won’t mind that he’s wearing his boots inside; he wants to be able to get out right after you fall asleep.
You don’t make that feat easy.
You putz around your apartment, making stops in your kitchen for a snack and then to the bathroom to brush your teeth and use the facilities before bed. Jason stands in your bedroom, rocking back on his heels as he sighs and waits for you. Then, when you walk into the bedroom and unbutton your jeans, stripping without warning, he blushes and turns away quickly before he can see anything besides the flash of red from your underwear.
He’s trying to be good.
Then, finally, once you’re in bed and ready to sleep, he pets your hair. “Good night,” he tells you, and then he steps away.
You catch his sleeve. “Stay?” you ask.
He shakes his head. “Can’t. I’ve gotta go.“
“Stay,” you pout, and this time, it’s not a question.
“Bug, I can’t–”
You interrupt him. “Yes, you can! You can stay! You can stay like you didn’t all those years ago, and you can make all of this better, and you can be my best friend again!” And with that you deflate, and you lament, “I missed you.”
His heart aches at the sight of you hurting so much, especially when only half an hour ago you were dancing your ass off and laughing like you were the happiest person in the world. “I missed you, too, bug. I’m here.”
You tug on his sleeve. “So stay.”
And so he sighs, because he can’t fight with you like this, can’t argue with you when you’re baring your broken heart to him. He kicks off his boots and shrugs off his jacket, climbing into bed beside you, uncomfortable in his denim jeans, but he’ll fight through it for you. You smile and curl closer, as close as you can, until your face is pressed against his chest.
“Thanks, Jay,” you say.
Jason just runs his fingers through your messy hair. “You’re welcome. Now go to sleep.”
It’s quiet between you for a few moments, and your breathing starts to even out, and he thinks you’re already asleep. But then you speak one last time.
You mumble into his chest, “Love you, Jay.”
His breath catches in his throat. He looks down at you, watching you fall asleep right next to him. He doesn’t know what possessed you to say that, even if you’re just saying it platonically – you haven’t seen him in twelve years; how could you still love him? But he slowly lets himself relax into the bed, and he can’t deny that – even if he wouldn’t call it love – there’s something still there after all these years, something that yearns to protect you, yearns to make you happy.
Yearns to see that bright grin without the hazy cloud of alcohol behind your eyes. Wants you to feel actually happy without relying on all your substances.
He wonders, if he went looking, how many drugs he’d find in your apartment.
But he doesn’t go searching. Instead he nuzzles his head against your hair. As he closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep, trying to ignore the feeling of your body curled right next to him, he can’t help but let his mind wander.
And he can’t help but wonder.
What are you trying so hard to forget?
Chapter 4: authors note - NOT A DISCONTINUATION I PROMISE
Chapter Text
hi everyone! this is just a quick note with a question - this is NOT a notice of the story being discontinued, i promise!
i'm going to be REWRITING the first few chapters of this story and reworking it, because im reworking my outline to make things more cohesive. and my question is would you guys rather i just edit and post new chapters here, or should i create an entirely new fic to keep this one intact (i'd probably either orphan the work or delete the work once i have the updated chapters posted)
(besides that, i just have a quick note - i won't be posting new chapters for a while because i'll be working on rewriting!)
thanks okay bye!:)
Chapter 5: authors note - NEW LINK
Chapter Text
hi everyone!!!!
i got some feedback from the last chap and was told to make a new fic so here it is: fluctuations of the mind
i will only be updating that fic from now on and will be orphaning this fic. thanks!
Ravenclaw_Jedi on Chapter 1 Sun 11 May 2025 04:33AM UTC
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