Jason had died once- at the hands of joker at the ripe age of fourteen, and also came back, at sixteen, plagued with hatred, towards the Joker and the underworld, vengeance, towards his killer and betrayal towards his so called father, Bruce Wayne, or Batman. He should’ve saved him, hell- if he couldn’t, he should’ve killed joker for killing his son. But maybe what joker said was true- maybe he was indeed and expendable.

Jason’s life has been plagued, ever since, maybe it was the death- or the resurrection at the lazarus pit- he was never the same, how could he- his childhood was stolen. Becoming Red Hood and taking out his anger by punching and kicking goons and basically becoming a crime lord was his coping mechanism. Not healthy, he’s aware.

He’d spend days on an end fighting, not daring to sleep because he knew the nightmares would come back, those gruesome scenes, Joker’s maniacal laugh as he repeatedly smashed his bones with a crowbar- no, it was all too chilling. Jason had become a cold hearted freak, not being able to do anything normally again. Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t talk to people, hated, people. His life started revolving around it, mistrust, agony and hatred, so he still isn’t sure how the hell he got YOU as his girlfriend- the kindest, sweetest, most gorgeous girl in the entire fucking universe, despite seeing the worst of him- his panic attacks, the nightmares, issues, abandonment, the dirty scars, the Y autopsy scar on his chest. You loved him.

Moreover, how the HELL did he manage to make you marry him, and, have a little daughter with him. Whatever it was, he was glad- and he wouldn’t give up his new life for anything. Apart from the occasional crime fighting when things get tough for the Justice League or the batfamily, his red hood costume, helmet and arsenal sat locked up in his safe, while he got a day job at his father’s (Yes, Bruce Wayne) Wayne Enterprises as the lead of marketing. Happily.

Although, right now? standing in the hallway of your shared apartment, in a pink dress that didn’t even reach his torso and a pair of shorts, his hair tied up in a fountain ponytail and glittery stickers all over him- yeah, he’d rather fight off killer croc. His daughter- Layla, holds his hand, wearing her own pink dress. God, he was THE red hood for christs sake. Look at him!

“Mommy! Mommy! Look at daddy!” Layla chimed, diverting your attention from the kitchen to the two of them. Great.