Description: After Jason Todd's death, the second Batgirl, Y/N L/N, is determined to kill the two men who caused it. Bruce watches her transformation, and the way her expression shifts when the Red Hood takes off his helmet.

Request: If the requests are still open could you do one where Jason was friends with the reader as Robin (round about when he was 16) and when he dies, reader turns into a Punisher like antihero and yaknow something with how when Jason does come back and his reaction idk really:))

Words: 1867

Notes: WOAOOOH I WROTE THIS SO FAST HOWWWW

Bruce had never known how much damage a sixteen-year-old girl could cause until Jason Todd's death. He remembers telling her almost as well as he remembers holding Jason's body, or the splitting, earth-shattering, undiluted pain in his chest as his heart tried to saw it's way out of his ribcage.

At first, the only thing that had been noticeably off was Y/N's immediate disappearance and the way she had executed it. It was cliche and simple. She left a tear-stained note on her bed, and Alfred read it aloud to me as I drove the Batmobile into downtown Gotham—Riddler had made a bomb threat on the GCPD, and that meant that I was needed elsewhere. Y/N can wait, I remember thinking harmlessly, she's only a teenager. I can find her once this is over with.

But after her disappearance crimes began to topple on top of each other, creating a proper and steady barricade between myself and the second Batgirl. By the time I had managed to create a period in which I could search for her, she was gone and seemingly never returning.

My fist stops half-way between my body and the Penguin's face, and then he spits her name. I pause. He starts babbling something about where she is and how she bargained with most of my rogue's gallery.

"The girl said—" Penguin spits out a tooth,"She said to everybody that if we all ganged up on you then she'd tell us you're real identity." He squawked when I went to punch him again.

The sickest part of it all was that I believed him, a mindless and heartless psychopath, when he told me that she'd gone after the Joker looking for blood. I believed her when she said that she loved Jason all those months ago. And so I believed myself in my own suspicion that she planned to kill the Joker for what he'd done to Jason... our Jason.

I know that she's broken when I hear gunfire and see her fingers pulling the trigger instead of someone else. The only reason I hold back is not even that she is like a daughter to me (something that if Dick or Alfred ever heard they would become sick), but because she refrained from killing children. She's not too far gone, I told myself, I can still save her even if I couldn't save him.

I remember what she looked like when I found her. Four months of absence, of mourning and grief for the boy that had shown her more kindness than any other had not been good to her. I could tell even through the rain that she was sobbing. I remember how the sound tore through me. I remember how she released everything I and the streets had taught her into that fight. She was primal, and yelling under the cover of thunder and lightning,"It's all your fault! It's all your fault!" Her voice broke and she crumbled into a mess of sobbing. I wanted to embrace her and comfort her in that moment, but my own fear for her mental state held me back. When I tried to bring her back home she sprinted off into the night, hands dripping with red rainwater.

Then Tim comes into my life. Y/N disappears. Tim, desperate to prove that he can fill Jason's boots as Robin, chases her down. He can only collect enough evidence to prove my theory; she was gone, but she was coming back and she was going to kill me and my worst adversary, The Joker.

When Y/N returned, three years had passed. She was taller and stronger, more vengeful. Her skills had managed to reach the point where they could almost best my own, and she grew better and better by the hour. But there was not a moment where I wished I had not taught her everything I knew. My every thought had been filed down to one mission. Bring her home safe.

We fought for weeks. Months. She planned. Tim, Dick, and I navigated the territory she brought us too and tried to survive. We found bodies in her wake, traumatized villains, messages like "Crime doesn't deserve to live" spray-painted onto alleyway walls. There had been a point where I was too desperate—she had already managed to defeat Dick at only nineteen years old, while holding a Batarang to Tim's throat. I knew she had won. I told her the truth.

I told her about Jason, how much I missed him, how much I wanted him back. I told Y/N about herself, how much I needed to have her home, how it was the only way we could move on—together. She broke down in tears, apologized for everything she had done. I feel as if Tim can recall that night better than anyone present could. She had clutched his face and told him for the first time,"You make a wonderful Robin," She whimpered,"I'm so sorry."

Tim had hugged her. That had ended it. She said she'd come back when she felt clearer, sparing Dick and myself glances with an equal amount of guilt and inner hatred for herself. I let her go only because she had taken off her mask and looked upward,"He would have never wanted me to do this."

Alfred opens the door six months later. Tim and I return from patrol to her humming a song I remember she and Jason would dance to together, making food and laughing in the kitchen with Alfred. We haven't spoken of what she did in her absence, where she went to train, until later in the next two years.

She becomes a core part of our team again. She and her mentor, Barbara, reunite and I hear the two girls cry for the first time in unison. She kisses Dick on the cheek every night before they head out on patrol. He checks her guns to see if they're loaded. When they are, he returns them and warns her everytime,"Non-lethal." She says nothing and accepts the weapons.

I know she kills her victims when we are not present. This has led to dozens of arguments that I am too scared to raise. If I do, then I know that she will snap and I will never see the same look she gives me every time she needs to understand that I feel it too. Jason is gone. We are both healing.

She approaches me one day and reminds me that she has no name.

"Babs is Oracle, Dick is Nightwing, Tim is Robin. You're Batman" Y/N flopped down into one of two chairs across my desk. I can vividly imagine Jason propped up in the one beside her, entwining their hands where they think that I cannot see them. Y/N softly says,"I can't be Batgirl. That's not me anymore. So what about a different name?"

Her and I both shared the same thought. The name should honor Jason. She has been wanting to show that she can be morally straight after so long, so I immediately accept one idea out of the many we came up within the next minutes. She needs the support and my guidance. Alfred smiles the next day when an envelope is slipped into his quarters; inside is a sketch of a costume, labeled White Robin. White, the color of purity. Robin, Jason's name.

"You'll make a wonderful White Robin." Tim had told her, quoting her previous words. She embraced him.

Y/N is happier. I am happier because of her. She hugs more often. She speaks quietly, but with a sweetness that she had not had even before Jason's death. She and Dick are now the nicest and most positive out of all of us. I wouldn't want it any other way. The costume makes her happy. She is doing (mostly) good.

Seeing her in the same costume now doesn't feel right. Before today the pure-colored tactical gear and weaponry suited her better than capes and cowls. Yes, she didn't blend in amongst the deep blacks and dark greys of the rest of the family's attire, but I suppose that was the point. For almost four years she had represented a darkness, a part of me that I felt that I would never be able to help, so now she is the opposite. She is light.

But across from Jason Todd, she should be in different colors. She should wear the blues and blacks of her Batgirl costume, with Jason in the yellows, greens, and reds of a Robin. But it is all wrong—now they are in reverse. She is pure and snowy, while he is bloody and dark. Regardless, there is still love in her eyes. I know, even if Jason's are hidden behind the lenses of a blood-red helmet, his mirror the feelings on her own. Maybe it is because as I, Dick, and Tim all stand against him in fighting positions, she is still and staring.

"...Jason?" She whispered tentatively. His name on her lips is so much more foreign and dangerous than it should be.

When he pulls off his helmet I expect the revenge to glint harshly off of the blues of his eyes, like daggers reopening the wounds of my mourning for him. I expect him to be grinning maliciously with our surprise at his return. But Jason is not. He stares at White Robin, at Batgirl, his Batgirl, and she stares back at him. Her Robin, and now her Red Hood.

He drops the helmet without care and she sprints full-force towards him. He doesn't hesitate to open his arms, the arms that I had watched wrap around the throat of criminals and silence their final breaths. She accepts him into her unashamedly. He breathes her name as she leaps for him, and he binds her to his broad chest without hesitation. Their embrace seems to break too quickly. Urgently, she cups his face. She gives herself only a second to see Jason Todd again, to notice the white streak in his hair, the worn lines and scars on his face, or the handsomeness that had grown up with him. And then they kiss.

It amazes me how quickly she can forget that he's killed people, that he is not the same man she knew. But then again, I am probably just jealous of his love for her. I know my relationship with Jason as father and son will take years to repair. But they fall for each other all over again in one glance—underneath my yearn for a complete family with Jason in it, I find a spark of happiness at seeing them together again. I have always associated Y/N with Jason, and Jason with Y/N, so seeing them together is satisfying. Completing.

We can't hear their murmurs between tears but we can all see their closeness; Jason screws his eyes shut, trying to suppress his regret and pain as she palms his cheek. Her lower lip quivers as their fingers intertwine after so long, so far apart. I see her whisper "I love you." I watch Jason put their locked hands over his heart,"I love you too."