jason wasn't cut out for this— for you, for domesticity, and definitely not when it came to children. you weren't supposed to mean anything; a quick thing on the side, maybe the occasional booty call. a stress reliever when he needed one.

that had all changed when you showed back on his door, teary eyed and choking on your words. pregnant. you'd think after all the bullshit the universe had thrown him, he'd be owed some fucking cosmic relief, but apparently not.

so. what had jason done? panicked. ushered you inside, lingered nearby like some kind of vengeful specter but never got to close. and yeah, he called dick— bad fucking mistake, because that lead to a phone call from bruce. "do right by her," bruce had said. yeah, big fucking help.

here he was, crawling his happy ass out of his bed, in the house he bought, to go check on his son, only to find you, his fianceé, already there; the infant wailing against your chest as you tried to calm him.

half asleep, his hair tossed in all directions and his t-shirt wrinkled, jason felt his brain struggle to catch up. you, bare faced in the moonlight, gingerly shushing the bundle in your arms. it was surreal, how casually he'd stumbled into this life by accident.

maybe he'd been a little spiteful at first, causing fights just to argue, trying to push you away with no luck. he didn't have the time or the patience to be a father or a husband; not to mention the risk this posed. after all, it wasn't like he was just going to up and drop his title as the red hood. having you and this baby meant extra trouble, extra danger.

bringing both his hands up to his face, he'd let loose a long exhale, scrubbing at his eyes before shuffling closer, arms reaching out. "give 'em here," he said, voice a low grumble.

fuck dick. fuck bruce. fuck everybody, fuck the whole damn universe and it's twisted bullshit— at least he was trying. at least he was here. and even if he didn't want to admit it, maybe you'd made him want something he didn't even want to begin with.

he knew he should be happy, and he was, for the most part. his girl was a dime piece, he bought a nice house in a cushy neighborhood just for her and his son— his son— and brought home enough to keep them comfortable for the rest of their lives. he had it pretty good; so why was there this itch under his skin that begged to be scratched? that whispered to him had you really done right by her?

another sigh left him; this time sharper. irritation or frustration— both, maybe. "c'mere," he jerked his chin, one arm cradling the baby to his chest, the other curling around your shoulder. it wasn't much, but it was effort.