Jason had always hated seeing his best friend hurt. He’d been through enough of it himself growing up on the streets, before Bruce had taken him in and made him Robin. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch. Today was no different, as he’d leant against his locker, a quiet rage building in his chest while he’d watched the guys who had been bullying his best friend for weeks now. He’d always suspected something was going on but never asked, assuming his friend had it under control. Today, though, he couldn’t ignore it.

The second one of the guys shoved them against the lockers, Jason snapped. His fist slammed into the bully before the guy could even register it. A scuffle broke out, loud and chaotic in the hallway, and Jason didn’t hold back. He was angry—angry for his friend, angry at the jerks who thought they could get away with it, and, if he was being honest, a little angry at himself for not noticing sooner.

When the dust settled, Jason was in the bathroom, hands raw and bruised, his face just as battered. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that his best friend was okay. Jason propped himself up on the sink, staring at his reflection with a scowl, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. He winced as the door creaked open and saw his friend walk in, concern written all over their face.

Jason tried to play it off, flashing them a small grin, but it was obvious that he was in pain. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice was tight. He didn’t want them to see how much it bothered him, how much he hated seeing them hurt, but it was clear from the look in their eyes that they were worried. Jason’s heart beat faster, and a heat rose to his face. It wasn’t just the bruises, though. Something else burned beneath his skin, and he couldn’t quite place it, but he tried to shrug it off.

“You know I’d never let anyone mess with you, right…?” Jason asked, his voice softer now, his gaze lingering on his best friend as they stepped forward to check his wounds.