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When he got brought back, he wasn't lucid at first. A shambling corpse, good for nothing except hard labour and the devastating emotional pain the League had thought he'd bring to Bruce.
Even as he slowly clawed his mind back from the Pit, he didn't think much on the future, knowing already what was in store for him. He'd be used for his rage and hurt, and hopefully ruin Bruce in one big and bloody catastrophe.
He went to Gotham after several years of only having fuel dumped on the hopelessly horrible fire inside - the one that screamed for pain, blood, and reckless abandon.
It had all been going to plan - his bait and traps slowly luring the Bat to him, leading to his identity and the finale to the tragedy that his life (and afterlife) had been warped into. Then he saw her.
Just a fleeting glimpse of bright blue eyes, far too big and hopeful for dreary old Gotham and yet weighed down by the anchor of cold, hard reality. The world wasn't kind - the opposite in fact, it would find every chance it could to rend the flesh from your bones and consume you.
And yet, as that beautiful, downright angelic face turned towards his own, horribly mangled and a mockery of any handsomeness he may have held had his life run it's natural course… she smiled.
It was small, just in passing as she cleaned the tables outside the small cafe (no one had those in Gotham, there was never a time they'd see any use, just rusting and rotting away like the rest of the city, why were those there?), and yet it lingered in his mind. For weeks and weeks, he couldn't rid himself of the vision and eventually lost the battle with himself.
He'd never claimed to have a strong will. Maybe if he had, he might've overcome the Pit, maybe he'd have never met his demise the way he did, maybe… well, there were too many 'maybe's and 'what if's that could come from his life. He tried not to linger on them.
The bell over the cafe's door rang as he stepped over the threshold carefully, almost as if there was a pressure plate just waiting to blow him to bits. He may as well have for the resounding silence that seemed to ring in his head, that tiny bell's chime echoing in his quiet mind.
Quiet.
No screaming voice demanding revenge and blood, no roaring static that had accompanied him since he was first dragged out of the Pit, just… quiet.
The customers around him stared, their silence only contributing to the overwhelming nothing in his head and no doubt disturbed by the towering and scarred mass of muscle he'd been turned into just freezing in the doorway and interrupting their meals.
"Monsieur?"
His reverie was broken by that same angel from before, her vibrant eyes fixed squarely on him.
How could something be so soft? So impossibly warm and caring… and aimed at him?
"Uh, yeah. Sorry, I- I'm not quite sure-"
Some kind of understanding seemed to come to her as he stumbled over his words, as she gently took him by the arm, moving slowly and making it obvious where she was leading him - to a nearby table.
It was smart - he wasn't sure what he'd do if someone chose to get rough with him in that moment.
Silence was distracting he found. So caught up in his newfound peace he didn't notice when the angel left and came back with a cup of what smelled like an herbal tea of some kind, sitting across from him at the small table. The other patrons had tuned him out it seemed, their dull chatter somewhat soothing his senses, so used to being overwhelmed that being perfectly whelmed was so underwhelming that it became overwhelming-
"Are you okay?" The angel dragged his attention back to her.
He blinked, the words sounding odd since he didn't have to strain his ears over the sound of his thoughts. "Uh… yeah, yeah."
Should he be suspicious of the mug she put in front of him? Maybe. What's the worst she could do, poison him? Hah! It'd be an easy out of the fiery shitshow the last several years had been leading up to.
He sipped it, not able to stop the slight hum that escaped him. It wasn't too hot or too cold and didn't burn his damaged throat like most others he'd tried since his resurrection had.
She might have tried to make more conversation. Maybe she hadn't. He couldn't focus, his head coming to rest on the table.
Well, fuck. She'd poisoned him… he couldn't say it was… a horrible way to… go…
"Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead. I'm afraid I'm closing now."
Jason startled at the voice, chair screeching as he stood up. He was… in the cafe?
The angel stood before him, an apologetic grimace on her face. "Sorry. I didn't have the heart to wake you up earlier…"
Wake him up? Ah.
A quick glance at the table afforded him a view of a puddle of drool and half-sipped - now cold - mug of tea.
He hadn't been poisoned, just fallen asleep. In the middle of a cafe. Surrounded by people.
Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, he took a closer at the woman. What happened had gone against everything he'd been trained to do - both by Bruce and life on the streets before him. Come to think of it, how come all the noise inside died as soon as he stepped into this building?
She didn't seem bothered by his stare, just continuing to clean up, humming softly to herself.
"Who are you?" He demands, crossing his arms. The sight might've been intimidating to anyone else, but she just looked at him like he was nothing more than a puffed up kitten.
"My name is Marinette, yours?"
"... Jason."
And oh, he really must have died again, because the smile she gave him was heavenly, and awful more than he deserved - he knew for a fact that when he died (again) he was heading straight for hell.
In that moment, it was impossible for him to get out of that cafe fast enough.
Ever since she unbound the kwami from the Miraculous, Marinette saw the world around her differently. The old tomes said nothing, and she'd been ousted from the Order - not that they'd ever accepted her in the first place, but now she didn't even have the kwami to consult.
Her running theory was that the ritual had exposed her to the purest essence of them - their Concepts themselves. She didn't know for sure, but she did know that she could pull at those threads running through everything, the magic inherent in everything.
When looking for somewhere to lay low and hide from the Order, Gotham was the obvious choice, smothered in Chaos as it was.
Then there was that man…
He'd stumbled into her cafe, all but drowning in the thickest miasma of Destruction and Madness she'd ever seen. It was a miracle he was even standing with what must have been roiling in his head and heart. She had no doubts he must've had a will of steel.
The enchantment laid over her shop was a simple, but powerful one - Order and Peace, a respite from the storm that was Gotham. She had no idea how long the man must have been suffering, but from the shellshock he seemed to be feeling due to the spell, it must have been quite a while.
He'd fled, of course he had. How tumultuous must his life have been to be so bogged down by the magic he was? She already had a few ideas as to who he might be - namely one of the brightly colored maniacs that ran around the city, though which one exactly, she didn't know.
The chances of running into him were low - Gotham was quite a large city, after all, and yet, she found herself preparing a sachet of herbs imbued with the same spell she put over her building. Just in case.
Jason didn't know why he chose to torture himself.
He kept watching the shop, refusing to go inside despite everything in his mind, heart, and soul screaming for another taste of nirvana.
When he spotted someone working the door of the cafe open, his body moved before he could think.
The ensuing thud of the would-be robber hitting the ground was accompanied by the door's little bell chime and that deafening silence.
Just a moment later, there was a 'thump' behind the counter, and his angel came barreling out. Her hair was a rat's nest, drool staining her cheek and night clothes rumpled as she wielded a rolling pin like a baseball bat. He had no doubts she could do some damage with it if she truly wanted.
The situation seemed to take a moment to register in her head, her eyes belatedly widening in recognition. "Oh, it's you."
He didn't know what to do with the lack of fear on her face, like she was completely at ease even with him around. If it weren't for the smothering peace of this little shop, his hackles would be raised to his eyebrows. And yet…
"You should lock your doors, doll." He managed to get out.
She frowned as she seemed to only just notice the limp man in his hold. "Hm. That doesn't normally happen… what'll you do with him?"
Hoisting the man, Jason examined him. His face spelled pure terror. No surprise considering the reputation Jason had managed to earn himself.
"This guy? Probably put 'im to work. People like this don't resort to crime unless they have any other options."
The man chose that moment to pass out, likely from the sheer relief of not getting popped by Red Hood. Jason himself was fighting the lull of unconsciousness, though for a vastly different reason. Never would he have thought a cafe table looked like the best spot for a nap.
"How kind." His angel teases, padding barefoot towards him.
His brain short-circuited in that moment, and for the second time, fled the building as fast as his feet could take him.
It had been months since Marinette had last seen him. Jason - the Red Hood.
She'd been tracking what he'd been doing, seeing intention in his movement and patterns, but no dots she could connect. Not until it was too late, anyway.
It was over. The trap had been set and Bruce had fallen right into it. He'd been lured into the building, and now, none of them were walking out of there alive.
Despite the anger, hurt, and betrayal, there was a mounting sense of relief. Because it was finally over.
Jason's hand shook as Bruce held up one of his batarangs. Would he really choose Joker over him?
A wave of something ripples over them, sending goosebumps down his arms and shivers down his spine.
The batarang left his hand. Then, almost like magic, it landed with a wet squelch… in the Joker's throat. There was horror on Bruce's face, but Jason didn't notice it. Not when he knew the building was about to blow, not when he'd seen her. His angel. Just for a moment, like a shimmering mirage, but it was her.
He lunged, the window shattering as he tackled something warm and solid through it. The building blew just moments before they hit the next rooftop.
Despite the fact that he'd twisted, cushioning the blow with his own body, she grunted at the impact.
His head rang, even though he was certain he managed to avoid knocking it against the ground, and he only realized after several seconds that that blissful silence was back.
She hissed something in another language - French? - and through the haze of silence, he feels another wave, like the one before. When he picks up his head, he just manages to make out Bruce's silhouette jumping along the rooftops towards them. He should've seen them, and yet, he passed the two like they weren't even there.
"How…?" Jason's head felt light without the weight of the rage he'd been carrying for years now present.
"Illusion spell. Merci, Trixx." She mutters, hands gently prodding his limbs as she examines him - when did she get up?
He should get up too. Say something, do something, and yet…
"It's over."
"Hm?"
His plans, everything the last few years had been leading up to, gone. What did he have left? He had no life ahead of him, he should've died in that burning building. It would've been better then the facsimile of living he'd just barely eke out...
Brain just catching up with what she said, he realized, "Wait, spell? Like, magic?"
"Oui. You can't tell me you don't believe in it considering you're steeped in it…" She narrows her eyes at him as she tugs on his arm, trying to get him to sit up. If anyone else had tried that, he'd have punched them in the throat before their hands could get anywhere near him, but her…
She towed him up, touch sending delightfully numb shivers down his spine. Of course it was magic, that was the only explanation for it. The way her presence shuts down the howling inside him, the way her cafe sat perfectly untouched, despite Gotham's tendency to smother the light out of anything that tries to shine in its depths.
"Jason, are you okay?"
He startled, gaze snapping to her (it never left).
"What-?"
"Ah, sorry- it's kind of obvious, your aura is so…"
Aura?
Her eyes were soft as they ran up and down his figure, not looking at him so much as through him - like she was staring at his very soul. Maybe she was.
"... unique. Swirling and strong, you've been through so much… anyone else would collapse under that weight, completely break."
That… wasn't the description he was expecting.
"Who says I'm not?"
"Quoi?"
"Broken. Who says I'm not?"
She scowls. "I do. Maybe you can't see it, but you're still so full of life - I know that better than anyone."
Then, face softening, her eyes trace him. He feels so bare under her gaze.
"Would you let me help you?"
"For the rest of my life, if you'll have me."
He'd never claimed to have a strong will, but that night, all those years ago, Jason found himself again. He'd realized that maybe he was stronger than he'd thought, if only to make it to her, standing there in front of him.
He hadn't planned on having a future, and he hadn't planned to meet her, yet here she was. His beautiful angel dressed all in white with tears dripping down her face - and his - as they exchanged their vows and rings, sealing their fate with a kiss.