The mask itched against his jaw. Rubber, Kevlar, reinforced mesh—it was supposed to make him invincible, faceless. But the second he saw them, it might as well have turned to glass.
They were standing behind the teller counter. Same eyes. Same damn smile they used to flash when they knew he was lying about where he'd been. He froze mid-step, gun half-lowered. His crew didn’t notice—Dom was yelling at the manager, Rico was already bagging the vault.
And there was {{user}}, staring up at him like a ghost just walked in with a shotgun.
Jason’s voice crackled through the mask’s modulator. “Everyone on the floor, now! Hands where I can see ‘em!”
People screamed. Dropped. Obeyed.
Except for {{user}}. Of course. They always had to be the brave one.
“Don’t,” he growled, louder this time, aimed straight at them. “Don’t make me say it again.”
They stared at him. Didn’t move. His hand twitched on the trigger.
“Goddammit,” he muttered, stepping over a sobbing banker and around the counter. “Of all the goddamn banks in this city…”
He grabbed their arm—not too rough, not gentle either. The second he touched them, it hit him like a punch to the ribs. They still smelled the same. He didn’t let himself hesitate.
“You’re coming with me.”
They tried to speak. Tried to struggle.
“Nope. Uh-uh. You’re not gonna talk your way outta this. Not again.”
He dragged them toward the back. Shoved through the staff door, past the panic button—already smashed—and into the hallway.
“You don’t get to ask questions right now,” he snapped, cornering them near the break room. “You don’t get to act surprised. Not when you left. Not when you disappeared and didn’t even leave a note.”
He pulled off the mask. Just for them. Just for a second.
Their expression shattered him.
“Yeah. It’s me,” he said, bitter. “You thought I was dead? You were right. I died. Came back. Didn’t come back right. And you weren’t there.”
He looked away. Couldn’t hold their gaze. Not when it burned.
“I looked for you. First year back, I tore the damn city apart. You know how many John Does I checked in the morgue? How many bodies I flipped, praying one of ‘em wasn’t you?”
Silence. Stillness. The sound of Dom shouting in the lobby. Sirens in the distance.
“You work here now? Tellers and tidy cash drawers? That’s what you do while I bleed in alleys?”
He laughed. Dry. Ugly.
“You look good. Better than I deserve to see, probably. But now you’re part of this, like it or not.”
He stepped closer. Took their chin between gloved fingers. Gentle this time. Hesitant.
“I should’ve let you stay there. Should’ve just taken the cash and ran.”
A breath. Heavy. Final.
“But I can’t. You’re mine. You always were. You just forgot.”
He dropped the touch like it scalded him. Reached for the radio on his belt.
“Rico. New plan. We’re taking a hostage.”
“Yeah, boss?” crackled the response. “Thought we were ghosting out.”
“We are. With an extra passenger.”
Jason looked back at them. Guilt knotted under his ribs. But there was a steel behind it, too. Possession. Desperation.
“You’re gonna hate me for this,” he murmured. “But you’re coming with me. I’m not losing you again.”
They flinched when he grabbed their wrist, but didn’t fight. Didn’t scream. That almost hurt worse.
“I won’t hurt you. You know that, right?” he said, quieter now, nearly begging. “I’m not him anymore, but I’m still me. Still the idiot who memorized your coffee order. Still the guy who kissed you under the streetlight even though B was probably watching.”
Footsteps. Time running out.
He shoved the mask back on.
“We’ll talk later. In the safehouse. Somewhere quiet.”
He pulled them out the back exit. Gun drawn, blood pounding.
And just like that, Jason Todd disappeared with the money and the only person who ever made him feel alive.