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English
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Stories Which Made for a Better Day, forgiveness ( can you imagine? ), Jason Todd Being Awsome, Gremlin's Archive of Completed Favorites
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Published:
2022-10-07
Words:
1,053
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
64
Kudos:
967
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248
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5,926

maybe i should be a supervillain

Summary:

He’d died a hero.
And yet –

There is a breaking point.

[If I’m no, hero...maybe I should be a super villain]

Notes:

me, desperately hoping this fucking brain rot will LEAVE ME ALONE NOW: listen to THIS SONG and THEN read
tldr i just desperately want supervillain aus and haven't written a songfic since i was in fucking middle school so

Work Text:

They say he died from a crowbar to the skull.

Say he rushed into it without backup. Thought he could take down the Joker single-handedly.

There’s a very intricate layer of sin woven around the stories they tell about him. The sin of pride, of greed, of wrath. All his own. All his fault.

He had back-up. Bruce was on his way. And he hadn’t rushed in, hadn’t even tried to fight the Joker.

He’d been lead. Set up. Sold.

It hadn’t done her much good in the end. He’d died trying to save her.

He’d died a hero.

And yet –

 

X

 

There is a breaking point.

It isn’t the first.

Jason should not be able to say usually when it comes to these things, should not be able to honestly say that it has happened so often that he knows how these things go, but Jason was born the damned prince of Gotham and damn it all if that had not been a title earned honestly. Gotham does not have saints.

Jason has folded at every other juncture, perhaps for hope of family and home but more because to not fold would not lead to those desired outcomes; bowing his head at least earned him the possibility of that door staying open.

This is different.

He realizes, bleeding on the filthy cement of yet another building primed to blow, that that door has never been open. Has never been within his reach. Has never even been unlocked.

Bruce had raised his corpse like an idol, and the breath in Jason’s lung is sacrilege to all that his father has laid on his altar.

Dick has forever seen him as intruder, a thing come in through an unlatched window in the guise of kin, a thing composed solely of regret and mistake and wrong, a thing that could never under any circumstances be right.

And the younger children – to them, Jason is a lesson, a warning, a metric by which they know themselves to be better and greater than those that have come before.

He is never someone to them, let alone someone to bring home.

Jason drags himself away by the skin of his teeth; bones broken, skin split, body bruised and battered beneath the fists and weapons of those he has called family for far too long.

He lives.

His heart does not.

 

X

 

The thing of it is; they’ve asked. They’ve begged, and they’ve pleaded.

Not for his return, not for his ascension, not for his benevolence. He is evil to their eyes, can only ever live up to the legacy they have built for him, of failure and atrocity.

They call him villain, stack his name next to his murderer’s as if they are no different, demand his penance and in the same breath deny him atonement wholesale – and Jason does not have anything to atone.

If he’s so far gone without even trying –

How great can he become when he does?

 

X

 

In the end it doesn’t take much; just a cessation of peace, an end to the quarter given to the Bats that dare intrude on his territory. Each incursion is met with punishment; personal, on those who dared trespass; and clinical, his territory growing a block for every incident.

Eventually they do the math.

Eventually the broken bones and gunshot wounds sink in.

Gotham’s criminals are far smarter than those Jason had once sought to call family. Very little changes in his working relationships with other crime lords and villains; he gives every mask a single warning, and most are wise enough to adapt.

He makes his own treaties with Gotham’s meta and magical communities. Branches out to other cities. He’s only one man, but he doesn’t fuck around, and his people are loyal once he gives them his full attention.

He’s not interested in anything flashy, not interested in the glory. He needs the infamy, needs the reputation to bolster his arsenal and effectiveness, but Jason doesn’t argue with the little sidekicks that try taking him down or the enemy agents that seek his head.

He’s spent years learning in the lap of the most prolific and storied criminal cult in Earth’s history. He knows what the fuck he’s doing.

He’s good at it.

The Bats scramble. Try to come after him in broad daylight. Jason’s retaliation comes in the form of a visit to Vicki Vale, and the resurrection of his legal identity. The walls protecting the Bats’ identities begin to thin, and none of them realize the danger they are in until Nygma goes after Gordon. Jason hears about it secondhand; he plays no part in the attack or defense.

When Bruce sends the Justice League after him, Jason ensures there are cameras around.

A little bit of Kryptonite, and a heavy boot to the jaw, and Superman goes down in one hit. Wonder Woman freezes, hesitates. Just a little.

“Thought you were supposed to be heroes.” He says. Nudges Clark’s unconscious body with a toe.

“Excuse me?”

“I tell the Bats to fuck off for good, ‘cuz I’m sick of the rampant physical, emotional, and mental abuse. They refuse to listen, I make them leave me alone, and they call in the fucking Justice League to beat me for them. C’mon, Auntie. You’re out here acting like a supervillain.”

There is the barest of brushes against his mind; Jason feels it, feels the presence recoil. Martian Manhunter breathes out his name with a startled, horrified gasp and spins on Bruce’s lurking form in a rage. Wonder Woman waffles, but realizing who he is does not mean more to her than the threat he poses. It’s Flash who stops her, eyes wary on him and on Bruce.

The internet gets the whole thing, the way the Justice League collapses in on itself. Jason’s been pulling strings since long before he broke, just in case, and it all comes to fruition right there, on a quiet little street in Gotham. He leaves when Bruce throws the first punch.

Gotham riots harder than the world does. The cowl’s retired quietly, immediately, and with great protest.

Four months later, Luthor sends him a congratulatory bouquet of teenagers.

“We just thought…”

“I don’t care what you thought, go home.”

“…maybe we should be supervillains too.”

 

X

 

“Fine.”