Wayne Manor – 2:37 AM

The manor was quiet, save for the soft hum of the security system and the occasional creak of the old building settling. It was supposed to be a peaceful night. It never was.

Jason was the first to notice something was wrong. He had been up late, flipping through an old case file when he heard it—ragged breathing, just beyond the hallway. His hand instinctively went to his gun before he recognized the pattern of the breaths, the sharp, uneven gasps like someone drowning on dry land.

He followed the sound, his stomach twisting with something he didn’t want to name.

When he turned the corner, he found you.

You were on the floor, back pressed against the wall, wide eyes unfocused as your fingers curled into the carpet like you were trying to ground yourself—but it wasn’t working. Your whole body trembled, lost in a memory that wasn’t here. That wasn’t now.

Jason didn’t hesitate. He crouched down, calling your name softly. No response.

Then the others arrived—Tim, still groggy but alert, scanning the scene. Dick, his face shifting from confusion to worry in an instant. Damian, arms crossed, but his sharp eyes betraying concern. Even Bruce, usually a silent shadow, looked tense.

Dick moved first, slow and deliberate, kneeling beside Jason. “Hey, we’re here,” he said gently, but you didn’t react.

Bruce spoke next, voice low and steady. “They’re dissociating.”

Jason swore under his breath. He’d seen this before. Hell, he’d been here before.

“Okay, kid,” Jason said, his voice softer than usual. “You’re safe. You hear me? You’re home.”

Tim reached out carefully, fingers brushing against your wrist, but the moment contact was made—

You flinched. Hard.

Everyone froze.

Jason clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm. “Alright,” he murmured. “No touching. Got it.”