Description: Happy Birthday, Jason Todd.

Words: 1737

Notes: Wow!! Ivy? Updating? It's a miracle! Anyway, I'm hoping all of you can forgive my absence. I'm just chillin' and living my life. But it's also Jason Todd's birthday (I'm publishing this at midnight), and I really don't want to be cursed by the thunder thigh gods. This is my yearly sacrifice in order to get those fresh thunder thighs (tm). This is unedited and raw, so let's hope it's not horrible.=D

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The night was cold on Jason's cheeks, nipping at the tears there like moths to a lone light in the darkness. It usually felt great. The cold had become a relief to him since he put on the costume. It used to be biting and hurtful, wrapping around him and strangling him in the nights where the only person who could comfort him was himself. On any other night, the cool breeze in his hair would have been addicting and alluring. Now... Jason felt more and more like those old nights as patrol rolled on.

Bruce had been... distracted lately, but maybe that had always been true. He was always trying to cover everything that he could, even when he was running out of hands. Jason didn't want to blame the man he now called his father. So... he didn't.

It's the work, Jason reasoned, checking the wire in his grappling hook. He's too busy, and that's not his damn fault. I can get on without him remembering. I've gone a lot of birthdays without anyone remembering, anyway.

It's not like Bruce, Alfred, Dick and Barbara forgetting his birthday wasn't a big thing. It just felt... weird. When he'd gotten a family, he hadn't even thought about what his birthdays would be like. He hadn't celebrated it since he and his mom were under the same roof. They didn't have enough money for real big gifts, either, and half the time she was spaced out on the mattress in the corner of the room.

(She'd always remember though, even if it was a couple hours too late. She'd get him a book or draw him something with waxy little Crayola pencils and that jagged sharpener. They'd end the night reading Charlotte's Web on the couch, and she'd tuck him in and whisper to his temple, goodnight, sweet Prince of Gotham.)

The thing was, even Supes had at least wished him a happy birthday (and a thank you for all his help with Mongul at the Fortress). His favorite coffee shop in his patrol zone had left out some cookies for him. Vicky Vale had even gone as far as to wish him a happy birthday, and to quote him as, "the best inside source for top-notch events" that she'd ever had. The only major person in his life to give him the full celebration perks was really—you. But that wasn't exactly surprising.

Jason slipped into your room, dropping onto your floor with the silent grace of pooling moonlight. He peered first at your door, already shut and locked (a habit brought on by nosy guardians and your approaching adulthood), then settled his heels on the carpet and sighed. Your parents were asleep and home. He'd have to be extra quiet, and Robin was a little rusty when it came to visiting his significant other in the dead of night.

He brushed his fingers against your cheek, hoping to wake you as peacefully as he could. I shouldn't have come here, Jason suddenly thought, and pulled away, They need to sleep. I shouldn't have bothered them with how I'm feeling—

"Hh!" Your breath hitched, hand slapping against your heart. The tensity in your shoulders leaked away the moment you were mask-to-eyes with him, and you immediately grouched, "What're you wakin me up for? You miss me too much't wait til' t'morrow?"

"Sorry," Jason whispered, retreating back into the shadow your closed curtains created. He didn't want you to see the ruddy tears on his face. He hadn't realized he was even crying until he'd stepped inside your room, regret and frustration leaking out of his pores. "I—"

His attempt to explain himself was cut off by you, lighting up like a firework and whirling around to check the time. "11:51," you beamed, beckoning him closer, "still enough time."

"For what?" Jason chuckled.

You bent over the edge of your bed and dug around for a bit, shoulders wiggling, doing your cute thing with your tongue that Jason couldn't help but quirk a smile at. The next moment, you resurfaced with petite old book in your hands—the kind you'd find at a garage sale, usually one of those old mystery books that everyone knows the ending too now.

"For this," you told him, gently, and slid your fingers down the squeaky cover as you passed it toward him. He felt your kiss against his cheek the next second, and your adoring whisper a beat after that. "Happy birthday, wonder boy. I hope you like it."

Jason, of course, flushed like a fool at the invitation to take it.

He turned it over in his hands, and found it to be more of a mystery than the garage-sale appearance lead on. The binding made it look like it was from the 1800s, and the subtraction of a title on either cover nor the spine doubled the effect. He peeled it open to find the book fighting his movements; it was made to look old, then, but had to be new. It was a quality copy of Grimms' Fairy Tales, and one that read "expensive" and "meaningful" all over. Jason felt his tongue turn to cotton and his tear-streaked cheeks go ablaze. No one had ever gotten him something like this before—no one but his mother.

"In the bookstore, a couple months ago," Jason called the memory to mind, letting the whisper hover between your two bodies. He'd been talking about it all afternoon; he wanted to get his hands on the book, but was too nervous to ask Bruce for it. It was just a book. It was also just a book that he was very excited to read. You met eyes, "You remembered."

"Of course I did," you laughed gently, "How could I ever not? You were so excited, and you were so happy and jittery thinking about all the lore and interest in the book. It felt... impossible, not just giving it to you the moment I bought it."

Jason made no general move to react, too stunned to respond. He studied the neat inking of the title within the pages. Then you were hugging.

He engulfed you in a single-armed hug, one hand keeping the book to his chest and the other knotted in your pajamas. His nose buried into your shoulder, "You are... Thank you, baby. Really. Thank you so much."

"Anything for my favorite birthday boy," you laughed. The automatic reaction to a hug from Jason was to move aside any stray locks, all to get the best view of his face. You did that with the same sweet intentions. But then your smile dropped and the light fizzled out, "Jason... are you... crying?"

"S' not you," Jason assured. He went to wipe away the tears on his gauntlet, dropping a mock-laugh in to lighten things. He'd do too many things to see his firework burst again. "Well, now it is—you really know how to make a guy tear up, sweetheart. In the good way."

"Then who made you cry before?" You pressed, hands worrying his shoulders.

Jason didn't really know what to say. He just shook his head, "Uh. I'm sorry I woke you up—I never wanted to be a bother—"

"You could never bother me." The thought was swatted away, and Jason watched it go with a longing to follow. He didn't want to burden you with this—he should've just waited until tomorrow. You'd made plans to see each other anyway, mainly due to the fact that Jason was busy with a charity banquet earlier tonight. He had been hoping that Bruce would have brought it up then. Obviously... he never got around too it, and had left early to handle an emergency in the inner city.

Again, Jason didn't blame him. As much as he wanted to.

Attempting again, you tilted your head and faced him with a melted expression. "What happened?"

Jason just shrugged weakly. "I just... you're really the only one who remembered today." Shaking his head, he scoffed, "Bruce and Dick just—ugh."

Your face fixed all at once, lip curling and cheeks reddening. Before Jason could take back what he'd said you were up and off, darting out of your room and silently down the hall. Jason cursed—this wasn't the best way he wanted your parents to find out he was Robin—and spun after you, only to enter the kitchen with a candle shoved in his face.

A birthday candle. On a muffin.

"We didn't have any cupcakes," you whispered, pressing the small delight into his gloves. "But I promise I'll pick you up something better tomorrow. You deserve the whole entire world, and I can't believe that all of them aren't here to say the same thing to you."

You shuffled over to the fridge, shaking your head wildly and cleaning up the mess of your rushed creation. The speech ended with a final, disbelieving, "Don't they see how important you are?"

"Y/N," Jason said. He had been wanting to be mad earlier, but you helped him realize that maybe that wasn't need. "One birthday isn't the end of the world. Bruce and Dick are busy all the time. I'm sure something just... came up."

You considered his words with wandering eyes, searching for a crack in his composure, at least a slice of anger too. Okay... Jason was mad, and sure, he blamed Bruce (he could have tried harder to remember, he does know everything). But being mad wasn't going to do a whole lot. Being here... with you... was going to do something. And that something was buzzing around his chest, leaping at the idea of the stupid book and the stupid muffin and the stupid you.

My god, did he want to find a word for this feeling.

"We'll figure it out later," Jason surmised. As kindly as he could, he found your fingers and knotted them with his. "For now... I just wanna be here. Happy. With you. And I want to read that book."

"Okay." You gave a sigh through your nose. "Okay," you tried again, more enthusiastic, and began to lead him back to your room. "Will you read to me? With the voices?"

Mouth stuffed with birthday muffin and grinning wide, Jason promised. "Without a doubt."

[He awoke the next morning to a full-scale birthday breakfast and celebration at the Manor. Bruce got him a copy of Charlotte's Web.]